Gideon's Shite Site

2004-07-29T04:57:00.000-07:00

What if you could live the life you imagined yourself living as a child when you were all "grown up"? How far from that tangent universe of childhood whimsey have you strayed? Almost 95% of the world's population feel that their lives almost certainly could be better. Why is this? Why can't we just assume a mantle of reality that benefits us all instead of the ruling elite? Then again, what if all we precieve as antagonistic and malignant is just a figment of our collective over mind? The monster in the closet we all just simply accept as truth without ever opening the closet ourselves to find out for sure is there. Hiding under our covers, closing our eyes, because the truth we think is out there is too terrible to behold...

Or is it?

Look around you. No, seriously, look around you real good. Is there anything you can see that causes you panic, fright, or just a plain sure sense of dread? Think about that for a moment. What is causing your anxiety? Is it some tangeble thing or just a figurative construct, such as terrorism. Not global terrorism, not a HAMASS suicide bomber in Isreal, but a broke ass American living in an apartment surround by little more than personal momentos and drapes.

Where is this boogy man you are so fucking afraid of? To me, he sounds ever so much like what our leaders said the commie spy looked like back in the cold wars days.

Are you so much like the judas sheep leading his flock to the killing floor because you so fear the hand that feeds you?

Imagine that you never again felt the need to escape reality.
Would that be so bad?

Not if the life you lead accually matters.
Always remember, you chose this life you lead and you can change it again if need be.
Reality is NEVER a constant. It is always tangent and in transition,waiting to be observed.

No fate but what we make, so to speak. Except when it's not...
But that is a rant for another day.

If you could be anywhere else, be anyone else... would you?
Discuss.
-GGS

2004-06-30T04:51:00.000-07:00

DO NOT LIFT LID BEES WILL ESCAPE!

Bring on the motherbitchen' mutants, goddammit. Babies born in Moscow hothouses, muscle mass the vector of ten, able to crawl at day seven, walking in two weeks... and killing in how many months? Bring 'em. Bring them baby bitches and they metahuman strength. Let them fill the streets with the blood of those that created them. Give me superhuman children to destory the old and evil of this world and I'll show you the path to paradise. When pure untainted id rules by sheer force of will, then we shall all play in the garden of inhuman delight, whether we want to or not.

And that, my children, will be just fine with me.

Gimmie my mutant monster baby demon scion, pappa's got douchebags he needs kilt.

-GGS

2004-06-25T03:22:00.000-07:00

"Jackie is a punk Judy is a runt
They both went down to Berlin, joined the Ice Capades
And oh, I don't know why Oh, I don't know why
Perhaps they'll die, oh yeah Perhaps they'll die, oh yeah
Perhaps they'll die, oh yeah Perhaps they'll die, oh yeah
Second verse, same as the first Jackie is a punk Judy is a runt
They both went down to Berlin, joined the Ice Capades
And oh, I don't know why Oh, I don't know why
Perhaps they'll die, oh yeah Perhaps they'll die, oh yeah
Perhaps they'll die, oh yeah Perhaps they'll die, oh yeah
Third verse, different from the first Jackie is a punk Judy is a runt
They both went down to Frisco, joined the SLA
And oh, I don't know why Oh, I don't know why
Perhaps they'll die, oh yeah Perhaps they'll die, oh yeah
Perhaps they'll die, oh yeah Perhaps they'll die, oh yeah"

Hey baby... listening to the Horrorpops, wondering what yer dreaming about. My legs are twitching with the beat of this shit in my head... it's like walking home, down a beach, in the starlight, with the opening band for reality following me, it's just what I'd wanted then and there, we could see into the future, dreaming a better place and stalking red shirts with our knives sharpened and teeth dripping, smiling... wonderful, all around, you with me in the sargasso sea of yestercognition double ugly ogres blocking our way... it's all in the cards, babe, we could take this place for its worth, just you wait, the drake knows the score, it's like a party all up in here... we corner the market once then twice fifty then nineteen... i love you,love and all I can do is give you the reality you deserve, nothing more.

The world changes, and few ever notice, but not us.
We see outside the box, and can read what is written on it's side:
WARNING! CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE!

What? You and me against the world? That's all we'll ever need.
Fuck them motherbitches.

-Gid

2004-06-21T03:37:00.000-07:00

The filthy monkey, it plans... or

DRINK OF THE WEKK
DRINK OF THE WEEK
The drink of the week has returned....

Tonight's brew is an old urban legend come to life via the sorrid underground bars of Miami. The Cum in a Hot Tub.

First off, the mix...

Three parts Rum, white
One part peach schnapps
now here's the tricky part...
take a normal drinking straw
fill it with amaretto
place said straw with amaretto in it into the glass
let go
top with a 151 floater

VIOLA! you've got some cum in a hot tub!
Honestly, it tastes better than it's name implies.
Shit man, it tastes better than it looks, cuz good goddamn, it really does look like someone spooged in yer drink.

A mere hint of a "Sex on the Beach" but with a tropical after taste, you might just find yourself demanding this puppy at yer local watering hole just days after your first sip.

-GGS

2004-06-07T04:48:00.000-07:00

"Drink" of the Week; the Gipper

Two parts Nightrain fortified wine
Two parts Thunderbird
One part MD/2020 Cherry
Mixed in a bottle of Old English half full.
Follow with a large hit of Crack Cocaine
And then another
and another
Then fucking die.
In a cardboard box.

As the life slowly ebbs out of you, as your heart just gives up and refuses to beat, you can remember, or even realize, what life on the streets, from the years 1981 to 1989 were like. Of course, thanks to Ronnie's sweeping changes to medicare and social security you're going to fucking die, most likely, since no hospital will touch you, without insurance, with a mile long fucking pole.

God bless the goddamn Gipper.

2004-06-07T04:24:00.000-07:00

Fuck Reagan

What the shit? When did Ronnie become a fucking saint? I grew up hating the feeble minded fuck. Anyone remember the Air Traffic controlers? Iran Contra? The joke that was Grenada? His "God's Wrath" view of AIDS? The fact that his fucking Veep was having lunch with the father of his would be murderer at the very moment he was shot? GOVERNMENT CHEESE?! Did you ever even hear of homeless people before he was in office? Bums, yeah, we got them, but whole families living on the streets, without homes, in cars and cardboard boxes? That's the trickle down theory of economics at fucking work for you. And don't get me started about his whole Evil Empire bullshit rant. By the end of Carter's stint it was well known in the intellegence community that the Red's were just about fucking broke anyway.

So I wake up yesterday and what assails me on the teevee?

What a great fucking "American" Ronnie was.

What bizarro reality have I fallen into? Hulk Hogan, another macho psudo-symbol of the 80's was a greater American than ol' Ronnie ever was.

And have I even mentioned that whole killing left wing nuns in central America thing yet?

Nuns. Dead nuns. Ronnie's blood money from Iran paid for that.
Oh, that's right, wasn't he working with Osama and Saddam to fight "terrorism" during his administration?

Great job, douchebag.

At least he's finally found a home he can call his own. I bet Nixon led him into the gates of Hell with Agnew chomping on his bit with fevered anticipation of the horrors ol' Ronnie was about to experience. A special throne awaits him there, that's for sure. Granted, he did die two years too early. Seriously, the feeble fuck died on 6-6-4.

We, in the satire industry, all thought he had exactly two more years in him.

Goodnight and Good morrow.
One down two to go.

2004-05-20T04:16:00.000-07:00

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2004-05-14T01:10:00.000-07:00

Things I would like to see for sale on Ebay.

- A mayo jar of human teeth
- Ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag
- Betty White's pubic hair
- The toilet Elvis died on
- A Japanese bootleg of Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo
- $240 worth of pudding, aw ya...
- A frozen bat on a stick
- A stack of "Illinois Nickles"
- The collected works of Byron Allen
- A live Sniglet
- Any member of the Osmond clan
- "Barry White sings Farewell My Concubine" on CD
- Two fucking pails of nitro!
- The needle that killed John Belushi
- A T-shirt that reads, "This is a T-shirt"
- A hankie dipped in Dillenger's blood
- An oversized inflatable golden apple
- Several midgets dressed up as Ghostbusters

That's my wish list, anyone happens to find any of this on Ebay, just leave a comment. Lotsa love, y'all.

-GGS

2004-05-11T04:31:00.000-07:00

Oh, and in case you haven't been waiting in less than anticipation, the Banjax Reviw Outlet has gone live as of ten mintues ago. I hope it helps you, all of you, in at least some small way
-GGS

2004-05-11T03:31:00.000-07:00

Oh, and by the by, comments are now active and on line. Just click the li'l "+" sign below the posts to piss all over anything I say. Oh, and have fun with it. Love you all, bitches...

-GGS

2004-05-11T03:21:00.000-07:00

Drink of the Week: The Suki Cherrybomb

In honor of my lady love Kiki and her nom de plume Suki Cherrybomb, I have created this mind blowing, ass numbing, vision scrambling drink. A boozer so powerful it just might kill you. But, on the plus side, it'll taste DAMN FINE going down. Are you ready? Then here goes...

Equal parts:

Ultimat Black Cherry Polish Grain and Potato Vodka
99 Blackberries Schnapps
Dekuyper Blue Curacao
Dr. McGillicuddy's Vanilla
Flor de Cana Centenario 12 Year Old Nicaraguan Rum
Cadenhead's Old Raj Dry Gin
Godiva Choc. Liquor

Shake with ice, pour into a large frosted glass, then serve at room tempreture. To complete the experience, top with Everclear, light it and serve with flames aplenty. Remember, this is an prestige drink, no skimping. Top shelf or better for this puppy.

Happy Boozin' muthafuckas.
-The Swann

2004-04-17T00:32:00.000-07:00

Normally, I refuse to post so soon after posting, but this time I'll make an excuse. I just checked my mail for the first time in a week and found a letter from someone calling themself, of all things, Tora Tora Matadora, asking me the following:

"Hey Gid, love the drinks, but what would be in a Gideon Swann?"

An excellent question, one I never thought to answer on my own seeing how I usually don't figure that anyone that don't know me would be reading this. But a question asked is a question waiting to be answered, so here goes...

There are two variations on the Gideon Swann, one you'll find in at least three bars in Miami and nowhere else, and one reserved for intimate occations, the first is...

One part Mezcal
One part 151 rum
One part Everclear
One part Vermouth
One part Johnny Walker Black
Top with a cherry in a tall glass

That's the legal one, here's the "other" mix...

A tequila sunrise topped with two hits of blotter acid.

Don't try and order that at yer local Applebee's bar, they'll call the cops for serious on you.

So, there you have it, the "Gideon Swann". A warning on the effects of such drink, I'm sure, would be wasted on the lot of you miscreants and boozehounds, but I'll give it none the less, DON'T FUCKING DRINK THIS IT WILL SERIOUSLY DO DAMAGE TO YOUR SYSTEM!

And there we go, happy boozing.

-GGS

2004-04-17T00:12:00.000-07:00

SPECIAL DoW, WEEKEND EDITION!

With the weekend here at last, and with your humble narrator and bartender fresh off of a six day work jag, I present to you, my faithful, a very special edition of the DoW which includes many lost offerings posted elsewhere. Feel free to use them, just so long as you pass the legend of their origins along with the booze and never, ever try and claim them as your own.

With that said and done, let's get to the drinking...

The "Jack Kirby"

Equal parts,

Jack Daniels
Absinthe, imported, not the fake kind, "unmolested"
Goldschlager, make sure you get some gold speks in it
Yukon Jack
Top with tobasco and an olive

Makes a nice reddish green brew when mixed right. The fact that after two of these the world becomes a seriously "Kirbyesque" landscape might add to it's naming. I first encountered this puppy on a day trip to Manhatten late in '93. Some near nameless tavern with the word "BAR" trapped in pale neon was it's only moniker, we went in and found this weird old cat with a yellow beard and white hair selling the shit as his drink of the day. After the first swallow I was ready for rehab, the shit just burned ALLLLL the way down, my stomach felt like liquid fire mixed with lye... but the second swallow... man, that was just pure bliss. It was only after a 200% tip and a promise to wait until he was dead to reveal the recipie that he gave me the keys to this seriously fucked up drink.

The "Gato Blanco"

two parts Creme de Caco
one part Everclear
one part Mezcal
one part Amaretto
top with lime wedges and salt

High, seriously high octane this drink is. The possibillity of total system failure lay within this drink. This puppy will rape your dog, set fire to the grill, beat the wife and make orphans of your children. Steer clear of it at all costs. Sure, with a name like the "White Cat" it sounds all innocent an' shit, but BEWARE! You cannot tame this bitch, she will kill your sorry ass not before too long. The combo of Everclear and Mezcal alone would blind most newbies to the HiOc scene, but it's damage can even be felt with long time imbibers of moonshine and Mescalito. If that disclaimer bothers you not, then so be it, down this whore of a drink with abandon. Be my guest, just don't blame me, blame a very nice old man named El Pator I met in the wilds of Miami many years back. He gave me this potent potable just before my first visit to "la brujia" and the virgin. He said, this was what God drank, when he needed to, and to this day, I believe him.

That's all for tonight kats and kittens, maybe more tomorrow if the Lord wills it.

-GGS

2004-04-13T03:11:00.000-07:00

The New DoW is here!

This week's Drink of the Week is none other than the infamous "Passionfruit of the Christ"

It's as easy to make as it is to sin:

Two parts Snapple Passionfruit
One part Manischewitz wine
One part Aurum (an Italian pale gold liqueur, orange-flavoured)
One part Nightrain fortified wine
Five parts Catholic guilt

serve over ice, in a martini glass.

An old buddy of mine named "Jimbone" first created this drink in honor of the Easter Holiday back in '96 for a little known club named Eths Gothshinm, just south of the trendy district of South Beach's club scene. The Catholic guilt is purley optional, of course, but it helps.

More when it occurs to me.
-GGS

2004-04-02T00:41:00.000-08:00

New Feature: Drink o'the Week Club

This month's DoW is the Chairman Moo.

A very simple recipie, but with a taste that lasts dynasties.

Equal parts,

Milk, whole, no skim for this puppy
Tazo Black Chinese Chai mix
Stoli vodka, trust me here, going for the cheap ruins the drink

All the flavor of a white russian but with the kick of a Re-Volt (see below). Strangely, it's taste is cloyingly like that of pumpkin pie. A French anarchist friend of mine, a cat that once taught me how to turn a stray twig into a vodka filled chewing delight, swears by this powerful brew. Communisim has never tasted SO damn good.

Last week's DoW was the Re-Volt. It, sadly, was published elsewhere, but now finds it's way here at long last. Another really simple recipie that holds it's own no matter the set or setting.

The Re-Volt

2 parts dark rum
1 part Jolt cola

Strong enough to fuck you up and leave birth defects in any possible future offspring you might spawn, and with enough caffine to make you the life of any party long after you've left it, the Re-Volt's kick offsets the rum's mellow qualities. Drink enough of this and a fight is sure to follow, so use with caution.

I first made this drink for a comtech friend of mine back in Miami, he dug it so much he brought it to silicon valley and the tech firm he currently works for, where, so I am told, it's legend grow on a daily basis. Coders nip on it to pass the downtime of meatspace on the few weekends they get shore leave. Obsessive compulsives also tend to gravitate towards this drink with abandon, I'm at a loss to explain why.

The DoW from two weeks ago was the Britney Spears.

Another real simple mix,

Two parts Bacardi 151 rum
One part ginger Ale
One part grenadine
A split cherry on top

The bartenders out there might notice that this is little more than a "Shirley Temple" with 151 tossed in. Ten points for you. Yes, this is a suped up porn star of a drink, very fitting of it's title. Few can sustain two of these in tall glasses, but the man that withstands four, so it is said, gains a powerful insight into female sexuality. Subsitute 151 with Patron tequila and you get a J.Lo Torpedo, as it is called in some of L.A.'s less frequented establishments.

Such is the alchemy of mixologists for this week ending April 2, 2004.

As always, I am your bartender and guide,
The Swann

2004-04-01T03:55:00.000-08:00

Friend of the devil is a friend of mine

Speak your peace, speak your mind, just might get some sleep tonight.
It's all incidental, but when gas prices double the per gallon equivalent of CocaCola, than yer shit has truly gone nineteen, for serious. In other news, there's only three things left keeping me alive and two ofthem are the final chapters of Stephen king's The Dark Tower series. After they come out, well, then shit, there ain't much more keeping me tethered to this sick plane of existence.

Been spending my downtime smoking maryjane and buring time with Jerry, my soundtrack might just make Phish freeks envious, these days at least. And on that note i might add, anyone heard of any new memes on new nurotropics on the horizon? Drink and smoke and opiates are just so yesterday, daddy needs some new kick to write about. Being polypharm only goes so far in our modern day life cycle, I needs me a new joint to lay my crux upon.

Nevermind that shite, let's look into politics tonight.
Sweet AnneMarie is the hopeless dupe of the Republicans that arn't in jail. Sweet Valerie don't know how evil the Democrats are on the values of personal freedom. So where does that leave us? Sticking our collective thumbs up our asses, smoking whatever is offered us, praying for hope, finding no answer, and just saying fuck it, I'm moving to Canadia.

The Devil just dropped by and made me tell you he's up for re-election, so get out there and vote this November!

I get home, every night, just before daylight,
-Gideon

2004-04-01T03:32:00.000-08:00

Morbid menatones

I got nothing. An update is sure to follow on the morrow.

Sorry.

Gideon

2004-03-10T00:16:00.000-08:00

"You have no chance survive make you're time"

Confronting the nature of nothing and loving every minute of it, scaling the dogmas of redemption and never even realizing none of it matters, falling down a well of some great wine like waterslide and singing the whole time, watching two dogs fuck, it's all the same as just, well, just because.

You, you people out there in radioactivity and chemical self poisoning, bathing in UV clam bakes, eating organicly grow cancers, destroying every thing you touch with a trace of PURE GLEE in your unwashed but ultrabrite smile, you are my muse now. The beak in my craw, the knife in my side splitting me with a laugh, the endless boils on the ass of humanity, you are my inspiration, and I love each and every one of you for it.

And you really should just STOP. Stop and really take a look at what you've become. If I were you, that's what I'd do, at least nine times a day.

Y'know, just because.
Just because what else is there but blatant naval gazing these days?
Just because you know what you want and you take it without a thought.
Just because there's nothing else to do but become extinct.

That makes me smile, y'know? The thought of humanity wiped off the face off the earth, leaving room for some new form of sentient life to evolve, it brings a smile to my face.
Y'know... just because.

I love this sick race of dog fuckers and whale watchers. Of furries, demon lovers, bible thumpers, sin suckers, monster magnets, hero worshippers, idol wannabes, pin up gas station attendants, low life horse floggers, skin theives, meat puppets, pleasure junkies, trekkies, LARPers, geeks, gorks, players, pimps, bondage queens, leather daddys, trauma visionaries, motherfuckers, asswipes, douchebags, and scum fucks... love 'em all.

There's no one I don't love, my love is like the fires of Hell, it engulfs everything and nothing, and all at the same time. My love for you is like, so to say, a truck. For all of you.

Having said that, all that's left is, to tell you, all of you representing humanity tonight, to pleasently go fuck a blue duck then die. That would be my gift to you all, blue ducks and death, the purest form of ART. And I am an artist before all other things, including my humanity.

Going off to find The Pup,
-GGS

2004-03-09T23:08:00.000-08:00

The apex of sexy danger is found here

2004-03-07T05:25:00.000-08:00

What the shit?

No, seriously, what the shit? FragX has been taken over by boohoo LJ fey fucks. I love blank but blank don't love me cuz i read and spell at third grade level, fuck! Another respected site for creative thought down the shitter. In other news, I got to play a new game today at work, "Beat the Red Apron Gimp".

The fuckers dressed me up in a red apron and tried to make me dance like a monkey for the amusement for the brainleeches waiting in their neverending hell line, shouting out banal trivia to the volumnious masses, passing out candy and treats to the bulbous fucks that know the answer to questions about the latest Julia Roberts opus and whutnot.

God, what hope is there for humanity?
This is what I deal with everyday...

Monsters that demand satisfaction, no matter what. "I'm an American and I demand to see Duplex, asshole! And right now!"
Nightmare beasts that eat anything with a 200% sugar infusion. Atkins addled freaks painted into spandex jumpsuits and leatherclad abominations that salivate over softcore wannabe psudoporn.
Lovecraft must have been a visionary, he saw what humanity would become in just 80 years and his mind just snapped, mistaking the gigantic sizes of modern America with the Great Old Ones.

God, I beseech thee, start over, humanity was a mistake. I hear the ferrets would make a much better sentient race.

Waiting for my time,
-GGS

2004-03-06T12:46:00.000-08:00

We've got a new sister site going over on the left links menu, The Banjax Review Outlet. Reviews of some of the best and worst of all things media. Nothing to see there just yet but in the coming weeks, months, and so on you'll find all kinds of wacky misadventures and such, so check it out.

2004-03-05T23:41:00.000-08:00

Hey hey kids, Banjax here spoutin' mad wisdom and silly pope-a-ganda at y'all, sideways, bandwidth intensive, protractating, and all around you at the same time, an' shit. Work, as always and for just about all of us day in and out, has been a mind numbing bitch of a whore to grasp my feeble brain around this past week. Memorize this, write that shit down, suck on this, get my coffee, watch this "training video", do workbook exercize 23 thru 31, smile when you do that, tell me you love me, charge "extended viewing fees" on all late accounts no matter the excuse ("but my baby died in the fire along with the copy of 'Patch Adams' I rented from you." pause for a moment to show that you are being understanding then reply with; "sorry lady, company policy, you gotta hafta pay fer the movie.")...

a veritable shitstorm of activity on my part.

AND on top of all that, I found myself in one of the lower pits of Hell this early evening, Homestyle Buffet....

My stomach is still calling my a right bastard after subjecting it to the misery of being surrounded by geriatrics, near homeless families wallowing in their last paid in full meal, and flat out gluttons of garbage (or GOGs as I call them) and then attempting to digest the horrors found therein... the humanity, or lack there of, oh the humanity.

"_We went out for a bit and found hopelessness waiting_"

Three, three in the afternoon, Kiki says to me, "Hey Gid, let's feast until we pop, be real down home American type folk, and shit." Me? I'm in the middle of seperating a cat ass from my sleeping face and couldn't be happier to oblige. Damn, I mean, for serious, I love my kitten, she's this beautiful solid white short hair, but her ass reeks of some long dead Lovecraftian Elder God with a sleeping mind for vengence against humanity. We've tried de-worming her, that don't seem to be the problem. We've tried Kitten Chow, adult cat food, people food mashed up and mixed in with kitten/adult food, both dry and wet... nothing. This cat fucking stinks of death, but she's just so goddamn fucking sickeningly cute one tends to forgive the stench and focus on her near total daylong routine of purring constantly. Twentyfour fucking hours a day, this demon of the cute realm purrs so loud at any given moment I await the arrival of the police to alert us that our neighbors are complaining. And, to make matters EVEN WORSE, whenever I'm in bed, trying to sleep, the kitten MUST sleep on my face. The moment I enter sleep, even with the door shut tight and locked, BAM! there she is, against all logic and reason, I wake up with cat ass on my face. Anyhoo, I digress...

We get to the buffet, complete with ten types of meat, six of fowl, three of fish, two veggies (corn or carrots, choose wisely a sign above reads), and some lettuce and what might be cauliflower or oddly coloured tofu textured lumps of crap. Nine different kinds of starch, five of which equaled some form of potato, and a "dessert" bar that made hemlock look like divine ambrosia. Around me, as I waited in a line that rivaled that of the local showings of "The Passion of the Christ", stumbled the denizens of the soon to be living dead. Hollowed out husks waiting to be freed from life, existing only to consume their salt lick prey as it lay under massive 3000 watt heat lamps, breaded, fried, toasted and skinned alive. A sickening LURCH fell upon me, gone as quickly as it came, and I had known, JUST FUCKING KNOWN, that the angel of Death had just drifted past me in line. Lo and behold, just minutes later, as I had my first tenitive taste of what might have passes for baked beans in some distant halfway house in the lower Ozarks almost a century before, the paramedics came and dragged away a man who choked to death on a carrot he'd dipped in flan.

Choose wisely, the sign had read. I had gone with the corn, after spending several hours in the bathroom since getting home, I wonder of the two of us, which one care had chosen correctly...

And like the night I so love,
I am gone
-GGS

2004-02-28T03:32:00.000-08:00

It's my party and I'll bitch if I want to...

Here's an idea, a new Progressive Party, for the people and by the people. I think I'll start it, in fact. Talking points, you want talking points, well, here's ours...

- Legalize drugs and tax them. Make the junkies pay for social security, no questions asked.
- Marriage and military service for anyone stupid enough to want that. Yer gay and want to do that, hey man, that's cool.
- Abortions on demand, even for men. Let's be fair here.
- Abolish the death penalty, except by internet online poll, that's democratic, right?
- Restrict coperate ownership of media properties to one in a market.
- No more lawyers in political offices, ever.
- In order to be President, one must serve at LEAST ten years in any branch of military service.
- Censorship shall not be tolerated in ANY form.
- 300 per cent tax on tourists from foriegn countries on EVERYTHING.
- Heath care for everyone, use the taxes generated by tourism from abroad to pay for universal heath care.
- A living wage equal to the highest rate in the country.
- Tax breaks for corporations that CHOOSE to keep jobs in the US.
- Free college for all US citizens, depending on where they get accepted.
- Boobs on teevee is not an issue, just fucking deal, ok?
- No school may spend more on sports than on any other aspect of education.
- Legalize beer at 18, hard liquor at 21, would cut down on alcohol poisoning related deaths and drunk driving 200%.
- TOTAL seperation of Church and State, no matter what. Some of us don't want yer Xian ways.
- and finally, free money to work from home!!!!! (warning, this is spam, learn to spot it or just fucking deal)

In summary, let's just fucking grow up and stop asking big government to hold our hand as we cross the street. Let's make the laws that WE ALL can agree on, and not let "special interest" and "big money" get in the way of a good time. and honestly, isn't having a good time what America is all about in the first place?

By the way, anyone that don't agree with any one of my talking points above, don't even bother, man. Cuz shit, lord knows, I'm just gonna delete them. Why don't you just go find some policy at IHOP you want to protest and leave it at that?

As always, I AM,
-The Swann

2004-02-28T01:51:00.000-08:00

Got a call from my bitch agent today demanding the lastest copy of my manuscript. I told her to go screw, it was like nine AM and far too eary to get anything from me other than bile and threats, naturally she should have known what to expect. a couple of hours later the boss, from Blockbuster, calls, wondering where the fuck I am, why I'm not at work and haven't called. I gave him some crap ass excuse that he seemed to buy and let me off the hook, I promptly went back to sleep. Next thing I know I got this stank ass cat ass in my face, demanding I get up and feed her wormy backside like right then and there... out the door she goes and again, back to sleep. Sometime later, later being purly subjective, seeing how the windows in my room have been blacked out so as not to let even a single bit of light pollution in, time means nothing to me in the Star Room, the phone rings... again.

"It's time." the voice on the other end softly tells me.
"Time for what, douchbag." is my only reply.
CLICK!
Whatever reply that might have been given to me was cutoff in mid stride by my wayward thumb.

Back to sleep.
Sleep is important to me these days, very important, more important than what most folk would consider reality. You see, I've discovered Lucid Dreaming, and all the benefits that entails.

For those that might not know, Lucid dreaming is the absolute and total control over one's dreams. And in the dreamworld, I AM GOD. I control the vertical, the horizontal, the fourth dimentional hypercubes, everything.

Forget drugs, forget video games, forget simulation immersion, forget every waking thought about freedom you know, cuz it sure as hell don't hold a candle to this shit. Not by a longshot.

So, throughout the day, I slept.

And I dreamed. O! how I dreamed.

When I woke, reality... it just didn't matter as much as it did just hours before. My only worry is that I might find the dreamworld so much more inticing that the fleshscape I normally exist in that I'll never return.
If that happens, then so be it.

Every measure of happiness has a price to pay, and if mine is never to wake up, then ah well. Life exists only because there are people that refuse to see any other level of existence than what lies just before their noses. I now see the infinite, and gods, it is beautiful.

See you all... in my dreams.

-GGS

2004-02-23T22:15:00.000-08:00

THE BIG NEWS!

I have a job again!
That's right, I'm a full time counter jockey once more. A fulltime Manager of the local Blockbuster video. Go me!

Stay tuned for totally real stories from the video store. This time, it's personal!

(brought to you by the Democrats for a Bush safe workplace)

-The Swann

2004-02-23T20:59:00.000-08:00

What's old is new again!

This blog is once again ACTIVE! Can y'all gimmie a big WHOOP WHOOP? No? Damn, you motherbitches are some real hard cases, y'know that? Anyhoo, a few, if not all of you might be wonderin' where the shit I've been. Well, mostly not, I'd assume, but for the sake of argument, let's roll with the lie, for the time being, k? Long story short, God came to me in a vision and told me the best way to show my love for him was to urinate in public, repeatedly.

Not buying it, eh?

Neither did the cops.

But I'm a free man once again, on the loose and on the prowl for shit to write about. Stretching my artistic legs in the kiddie pool of the web and feelin' real fine, if you can dig. Mad props to my main hooskow, Chris T. Denny for hunting my ass down an' shit. Two points for el gato frito on that count. In fact, I'm nominating him for cannonization this fall for patron saint of cinema managers, so show your love and let the Pope know yer behind this 100%.

More later, as the drink starts to take hold, I've got a big announcement coming later tonight.

Until then, keep it tucked back and tight, otherwise you'll never win that costume contest, man.

-The Swann

2003-10-15T02:29:00.000-07:00

They call me Banjax outside dublin, it means to ruin.

Just thought y'all might like to know.

-The Great Red Swann

2003-10-15T02:23:00.000-07:00

Tied to the whipping post, left to rot, waiting for the man, given to thought...

So, after checking my mail this morning, hoping for a fat unemployment check, I happen across a leather bound package with my name stiched in silk upon it's face. Inside I found a copy of Josh Goodwin's latest opus, "Killing the Grove Rat; a Study in Post Modern Regicide". I finished it about two hours later and gave the cat a call to congrats him first hand on a job well done. After we shot the shit a bit I whittled out of the cat a nice hefty interview on the subject of post modernism and the state sanctioned murder of helpless bastards and their families. Herein be the crux of that shit, for yer reading pleasure...

GGS: Hey man, great book, for serious, yo. Where the shit did you come up with such a load of complete nonsense?

JMG: First off, dude, fuck you. Secondly, I really needed the money after spending the past year hopping trains across country and simply refusing to find a decent job. So, I conned a publishing house into giving me an advance on what I told them was gonna be the great American Novel. After living off that fer a year I realized I had a week to string some silly shit together before getting my sorry ass sued, so I came up with this bullshit theory that the entire downfall of American culture stemed from Coconut Grocve, Florida.

GGS: Coconut Grove, where I have I heard of that before?

JMG: Dude. You haven't. It's not listed in any of the ancient online texts, it's not on any map. Unless you've been there, it simply dosen't exist.

GGS: So how did you first hear about it then?

JMG: Man, how fucking dense are you? We've talked about this months ago, fuck dude.

GGS: Um, what I mean is, could you tell "my readers" about the Grove.

JMG: Oh, shit man, my bad. Anyhoo, I lived there fer like half my natural life an' shit, man. Lived there, fucked there, ate there, did my various shit there, you know, experienced it firsthand.

GGS: More than I needed to know, but that'll do. Next question, who are the Grove Rats and why should we be hunting them down for sport?

JMG: Well, Gid. That's a complicated question. Pass.

GGS: Dude, this ain't a game show, you can't just say "Pass" and expect me to ask you another fucking question, shit don't work that way.

JMG: ...

GGS: Hello?

JMG: ...

GGS: Josh, dude, you there?

JMG: I think that's my ride, check you later, man.

GGS: Hello? Shit, I think that hack fuck just hung up on me.

So that's that, my first legit interview. I'd like to think it went better than I could have hoped for, considering the subject. Well, I've got a bottle of Mescal with my name on it, so I've really got to run as well, kats and kittens. Until next time, don't you fucking die on me, goddammit!

My name is Buck and I...
-GGS

2003-10-13T02:30:00.000-07:00

ERROR 235: Edited for ranting.

2003-10-01T12:46:00.000-07:00

Tales from the pup.

Coming Soon.

2003-10-01T03:27:00.000-07:00

Error 0523: Nothing to see here, people. Move along.

2003-09-28T03:21:00.000-07:00

Ok, ok, forget all that. I'll be good, just put the fuckin' mace down, ok? I've been offline awhile, I'll admit that freely. And for that, I am truly sorry. Well, not really, but what the shit are the lot of you worth these days anyway? Not a piss-fuck in Amsterdam, that's fer sure. So, yeah, I'm back baby. Now go fuck off, thankee sai.

We've just gone T1 on you poor piss-fucks and my time is better spent than bitchin' and a moanin'...
Anyhoo, keep it real my muthabitches. Keep that shit real.

Good lord I feel like I'm dying...
-The Swann

2003-07-27T01:28:00.000-07:00

Error 0523: Nothing to see here, people. Move along.

2003-07-26T00:48:00.000-07:00

Truly an amazing flick, run out RIGHT NOW and rent it. Seriously, dude. Right now... I'll wait.

2003-07-23T00:50:00.000-07:00

Fake plastic trees

Our movie review this month is the amazingly vivid almost direct to video Lion's Gate porduction "May". The story of a some too shy teenage girl and her obsession with dolls, well, one doll in particular. A doll that, well, I'll let you find out. A unique horror flick that grabs you right off the bat even before the opening credits roll and then hold your attention until the very fucking end, just waiting like starving dogs over a dead baby's arm to find out how it all ends. Two severed thumbs up, covered in caramel and candy corn.

Also, saw Punchdrunk Love and can't understand how most folk hate it so. Great use of soundtrack and colour, shit man, I even almost forgot it was that Adam Sandler fuck until near the end. On a "dude, we coulda told you that" note, stay the shit away from Elvira's latest "movie", "Elvira's Haunted Hills". GET IT?! HAUNTED HILLS?!?! LIKE HER TITS?!?!?! ha. let me laugh again. ha. that. is. too. funny.

kill me now.

Anyhoo, wish me luck here in the "show don't tell" state as we get to gearing up for the big halloween bash among other, albeit less interesting, things around here.

Now stop dreaming of me, dammit.
-The Swann

2003-06-21T01:52:00.000-07:00

Well Ok then, good show. Anyhoo, I'm back from the left coast with tales to tell and yarns to spin. Sadly, I'm not much in a mood to write. But know this, my time in the vile swampland is long for short. Soon I'm migrating to Cali for good and for final. Long live the left coast, death to the old flesh of Florida.

In other news I'd like to thank Google for fucking up my ability to post ever since I got back from Cali. Thanks for buying out Blogger and messing with the minds of my readers making them think I was dead an' shit. Thanks guys, thanks a bunch.

So that's that. Adios and badda bing babies. More news as it either develops or as I get drunk enough to write in this damn thing.

As always I am,
The Swann

2003-06-21T01:45:00.000-07:00

So, the big question is this; is blogger working? Beats me, hell, I'm not even sure this fucker is gonna work until I hit the "POST AND PUBLISH" button. So, as always, we shall see. Let's test this theory, shall we?

Hopefully, I'll be right back.
Love always,
The Swann

2003-05-28T19:40:00.000-07:00

Aw mamma, can this really be the end?

Well kids, kats and kittens, this is it. The big dough bag, the pizza pag dippity rag, the showdown before the hoe down. The last bash of the great and fabled "End Times Road Show" and I must tell y'all how very proud I am to have been a part of the whole shee bang. The tour wraps on the left coast with an extended ten day visit in the greater SanFran area, I might even squeeze in a stop at the legendary City Lights bookstore this weekend. But nothing's set in stone as of yet. We've had some serious fun these past few weeks of mostly drinking, some writing, and quite a bit of violence against the locals in various parts of the country. I can't say I'll be all too happy to return to the swamp ten nights from now, but prehaps the fates might not even allow that to happen, the way things are going these days.

In other words, if, twelve nights from now, there ain't no new post here, then that might very well be the end of things as we know them to be. I can olny hope that if the dreams do prove to come to pass and the blood on the wall is mine, then I sure hope it comes while I'm out in Cali and not back in a fetid decaying swamp of failed dreams and lost ideals.

God keep you safe and trouble free my pets, welcome to the next age of the new flesh.

I, for one, welcome our alien overlord masters.
-The Swann

2003-05-17T23:05:00.000-07:00

In a dream I heard the call and found this inside me, sleeping.

all God's parties die today

the dancers sway and stop and sway and groove, beating their limbs like tap dancing mistrials before a satanic court. forgetting the horrors of everyone else, they paint their bodies in various fluids and smiles. teaching bald monkeys their fantastic dance steps set in time to the bombs dropping every so often rubbing extendend organs against plastic chairs and tripping dodo birds lost among their so called human kin. pouring out dirty words, picking up local bar trash, loving the last minutes of time we are allowed to see, this is the final dance of the damned, and we kittens and kids prance among the ruins of your society. the final matrons of the Goddess disfigure their scantily clad robust bodies in defilement of the Word, showing signs of catnip psychosis in their bodysuit deliberations. bear backed stockbrokers do a dogpile on a scat tipped stripper named humanity, humping away all their gold. all this sadness, fucked away in a smile. every hole is holy tonight, every sin is sainthood while the sun still shines up high. can't the sky sing one last time, it's all a game, the death of billions a simple word play badly executed on a stage that's burning. think of the money to be made on doomsday's date, forget flowers and candy this time, it's all about the mind and the sign and the stars packed back to back with sore filled pus ridden viral commercials in technicoulour suicide. so we dance, swing around like demons playing human in our painted flesh suits and fur wigs. kicking ass not taking names swinging our big "sticks" like gods of porn. trading dimes on arena fights and popular disease theatre puppet shows. preying that after this is nevermore and forever lasting empty happiness. acid clad break beats stinging and singing again, like a show without end, canceled way before it's time, bleeding ratings and losing hemoglobin quickly. doomed to endless repeats in syndication. we all turn black as soot when the camera is gone from our face. and when the boots of iron and clay kick in your door it's good to just say no to divinity, take up your crimson staff and say no more to reality. secure a promised place among the shattered hearts trapped in innerspace, quivering and screaming simply for MORE. more violence, more sex, more music, more kids, more hate, more drugs, more horror, more laughs, more saints, more dinner, more more more MORE MORE MORE a rain of plenty crushing you under it's loving weight. give it all away, give it all away, take it all, take the paint, cast off your second face, make love to yourself and find happiness in throwing it all away, abandonment as a virtue, dissatisfaction a sin. there's no more reason to think you can change the world. there's no more reason to think you can change a mind. there's no more reason to think you can change yourself. there's just no more reasons anymore. this is a sinner's state, full of love that lies, full of faceless demons taking the things you love away, fucking you just for thinking what you think is true.

give up.
before the bad things do finally come in.
give up.
this has happened before, it will happen again.
just fucking give in.

mind probe violations, skin rape atomations, injection wraiths aplenty, fogmoor castoffs follow you. it's all in the "tell"ing, the subtle sign you are being lied to. nothing to, nothing can, nothing will, so just give in. play along, bide your time, and make it seem like you're better off than you ever could have been. compliant, tied down, depressed, totally and completely normal in every way. a quiet rebellion made up of the dancers that ply the streets as their trade, synthetic symptoms of a greater disease. kiss baby kill, make your stand by doing nothing ever again. this is the sorrow you hold up and cry about never wondering why, or how, it ever came to be. dance baby kill, sing your songs about sorrow and pain never realizing that it was you that made this all come to a head. we all die tomorrow, or the day after, it's just so romantic, so why complain? we all love a good joke, especially when the last man standing is the last man laughing in a pile of his own shit... put on your flesh suit and just sing along.

2003-05-16T23:46:00.000-07:00

Kill the body and the head will die

Deep impact knife thrusts fall quickly beyond sight as the corpse lays prone, waiting for science to see the true victims in an undying plight of neverending cycles of death and horror. Where it bleeds is never the last place you'd look for truth. Everyone knows, the mind is the last to go. Can't you see that it's all elmental? Pong only came before the final four, in a thing that never was what it wanted to be. TV commercials can't see that there's only one consumer they can't decieve and they productivity is free? All the news lies, it's just a pony show... when the sky stops, tearing down reality, i'll be right there, loving what you threw away like a bad back at a WWE convention. With my Chuck Convers and a head full of acid I mock what all you hold dear, painting faces on teleprompter visions and cromakey deliveries. N0o man, nor woman, can stand 27MG of organic nutmeg in their system for long. After several hours it leads to death and worse.... a nightmare of the senses. True horror as the brain takes hold of the body and kills it with the slow percision of a nazi doctor. Let alone can the body nor brain stand such excess with alcohol topped upon the assault of massive nutmeg abuse. It's made better men than me go quite insane and die deaths we would not wish upon the killers of 9/11... but for four days and night i have continued the experiment. Taking herculeian dosages of the poison into my system and chasing it with cheap rum and coke. And now, as the wall beast conspires to devour me alongside the twisted members of my mental community, I realize what I may have just doomed myself into, a neverending psychosis of candy coloured odds and republican ends.
You thought I was better... silly billy... it all ends here.

A new thing growing in me,
-The Swann

2003-05-16T22:52:00.000-07:00

All of that thick time without you
Has made me so thick and drunk
"and it's okay to laugh about it"
I said, "it's okay to laugh about it"
Running twice as fast to stay in the same place
Don't catch my breath to the end of the day
And I'd rather be shot in the face
Then hear what you're going to say
One day the wind will come up
And you'll come up empty again
-And who'll be laughing then?-
You'll come up empty again
No reasons-no explanation-so play the violins
It's always funny until someone gets hurt...
And Then it's just hilarious!
You beat me every time you blink
If only I did not have to think
Think about you crackin' a smile
Think about you all the while
On the ricochet - it's going to hit you
It's always funny until someone gets hurt
You can laugh at me - when it misses you

-Faith No More

2003-05-14T23:12:00.000-07:00

Don't let me die with that silly look in my eyes...

Every blog might be your last. I'll always remember that. The Man taught me that along with his lessons in disinformation, hidden agendas, and poetry. And this blog might be all of our last ones. The message boards are being closed all around the web, people are going into hiding, waiting for that black hole sun, that very nemesis to come back into the fold, the date holding true along with the coming eclipse tonight foretelling disaster. Who knows what the last to know knows?

Can't you see that there's only one me, and that me is me?

Even if it's just a fable it still holds weight. Death is out there, holding us, loving us every minute it cannot have us. Waiting... even still, it's there, you just can't see it. A second sun waiting to flare and singe and burn. Holding out, biding it's time, making us sweat. We are on the cusp of a new age, wether we like it or not. We all have become death, both inwards and out.

The sky is falling and I want my Mommy.

But me, I am just a man. Now it's getting closer, the clocks slow down a fraction every night until the sun sets at dawn. And every night, I shut my eyes, so I don't have to see the light. I dream about a cloudy sky, I dream about a different night. Some of you have felt it too, a weight in your dreams crushing you. The blind third eye opening against it's will. To hold the terrible power only the god's have lent. Dreaming of a wicked sky, a clamshell nightmare wide. Burning me, burning the earth, shaking us to our very cores.

It is coming my pets. Faster than you would ever dare imagine. Shining so bright. Death does not ride a pale horse, it rides a firey stallion made of flesh and stars. Killing us each morning we rise and dying just a little every time we dream of tomorrow...

Your Cassandra born anew,
-The Swann

2003-05-13T20:49:00.000-07:00

Principiis obsta

The "offical" count isn't yet in on how many Americans or otherwise human beings were blowed up last night in everyone's favorite regime Saudi Arabia, but it sure looks grim, don't it? Within moments of the blast the talking heads were reporting that this attack had all the trademarks of an Al Quidea terrorist bombing. Namely, shit blowed up and people died. Amazing. Fucking amazing detective work there kids. Didja all call Columbo in on this one or just listen to our personal Dr. Strangelove and take notes? What's really gonna bake yer noodles on this one down the road is... aw fuck it. You know what? At this point in history it seems evident that we have all made our choices in what to believe or not to believe about the state of the world. My seriously baised opinion ain't gonna change yer world view unless yer seriously demented or news starved and living off Kava Kava extracts and humming Jimmy Buffet tunes somewhere off the coast of the Canary Islands. So, again, fuck it.

Resist the beginnings,
-The Swann

2003-05-08T23:53:00.000-07:00

Shit, has it been that long since I last posted? Shame on me, shame.

To make up for that I'll post the following random bits of word salad...

BLUE LOTUS CHLORPROMAZINE - Anti-psychotic GALANGAL - Aphrodisiac Ice cream habit - occasional use of drugs Juggler - teen-aged street dealer Kabayo - heroin bacon sarnie Noun. Pakistani. Rhyming slang. See 'sarnie'. banjax Verb. To ruin. [Mainly Irish use.] bingo wings brained Adj. Extreme drug intoxication, affecting the mental faculties. acknowledge the corn: to admit the truth anti-fogmatic: raw rum or whiskey. cap the climax: to beat all; to surpass everything. codfish aristocracy: a contemptuous term for people who have made money in business. dram shop: a small drinking establishment, from early in century. exfluncticate: to utterly destroy. guttersnipe: a homeless child who roamed and slept in the streets. Hundreds roamed the larger cities throughout much of the century. mudsill: the uneducated, working class. Check In The Dark: To check before looking at the card or cards just dealt. Coffee Housing: An attempt to mislead opponents about one's hand by means of devious speech or behavior. quim: female genitalia, used throughout the century. beat cat layin' down a land tap Chalk or Raisin Jack: Home made alcohol, or pruno. Code 21: Masturbation Hyna: Girlfriend. (Sp.)
Long Ride: Doing life. Mafias: Dark sun-glasses. Mushfake: Any prisoner made item, including shanks or handmade weapons. (Ohio)

There. Is that enough to subdue you letter writing assholes? To tide you over until the continuity kicks back in? Prob'ly not, but that's ok.

Telling secrets, telling lies, holding court in a world gone by,
-The Exhaulted Emperor Joshua Norton II, aka The Swann

2003-04-27T18:44:00.000-07:00

The high price of fame

HA! I say, HA!
The fucker Kevin Donihe thought I was done with him. Oh no my pretties, not by a pimp's mile.
After he dispatched my highly trained special pinhead forces outside a Kentucky brothel last week with his unique "Lobster Boy" style kung fu, he thought he had won the war for his skull... my oh my, dear readers, was he ever so wrong.

Early Friday morning Judge Vaugner, of the 108th St circut court, ruled that mistah Donihe's book, "Shall we gather at the garden" was slanderous and costing Swann Systems, Inc., as well as dear old me, scads of money! Since he neglected to even show at the trial (btw, thanks Lono fer stealing his mail for me, yer check is SO in the mail), my laywers took matters into their own hands, so to speak...
After a failed tryst with an undercover agent of mine, the poor fellow awoke to find his skull removed.

And now I have it! The skull is mine!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!

All I need now is Robin Williams' Adcademy Award, Nell Carter's liver, and the smoldering remains of Studio 54 to complete the ritual of Conquest and RULE YOU ALL WITH MY IRON BLOODY FIST OF LOVE!!

Until next time my soon to be casualties of the revolution, I AM...
-The Swann

2003-04-26T21:01:00.000-07:00

Leggo my eggos you cocksucking bastards!

You know, I think I really need a vacation. Maybe go out to the coast, poison a few lemurs with acid, kick up my shoes in the sand and play a riff or two on the old 808. Then again, I could always take up stamp collecting. Anyone got any stamps?

Shit, where's Larry King when he's needed?

Thinking of all the ways to post something with out posting a thing,
-The Swann

2003-04-22T22:25:00.000-07:00

"evolution is slow... smallpox is fast..." -George Carlin

2003-04-19T17:26:00.000-07:00

“The basic tool for the manipulation of reality is the manipulation of words. If you can control the meaning of words, you can control the people who must use the words.”
Philip K. Dick

Three days and nights without sleep now. The world turns a serious colour when eyes this tired yet awake look upon it. Like a nine year old boy tweeking on his parents' stash of meth I am born anew with each passing of the festering morning light. Writing and wilting away the hours, passing the time slowly killing myself under the glare of swamp gas delusions and microbe infestations under my skin, ever crawling, ever grazing on my former brain cells. It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the constant echoes of phantom people beckoning me to play with them. I really hate those fuckers...

Long story short though, I just finished Mr. Donihe's astounding work of fragmented genius, "Shall we Gather at the Garden?". It went pretty gosh darn well, in retrospect. Quite liked it. It was much better than CATS, I'm going to read it again and again. Reminded me Of the early works of Robert Anton Wilson mixed with some of the shit I used to hallucinate back when I was living off the government's dime, and selling my body for medical research down at the local Drug Farm syndicate. Boy howdy, were those the goddamn days, I could tell ya...

But now I find the time so much fuller living on the dead's time and eeking out a dreamless existence under a crawling Florida sky. Getting down mangrove style, busting a nut to the grooves of nightshade symptoms and sorrid chemical night train melodies. Now, I know what both of my loyal readers are thinking at this point. Y'all are thinkin', Gid, ya ol' poonrat, get to the fuckin' point, man. And so I shall dear readers, so I shall...

For serious, that book tanked my ass right proper. Busted me in the kisser, made me mess my pantaloons, beat up my sister and violated the dog anally. It was just that good, except for all the damn circus midgets. Shit boy, EVERYONE knows that the circus midgets don't control the fate of humanity, the pinheads do.

Granted, the book is kinda about the accursed wee little red nosed folk, so I'll give a brother a break fer tellin' a right good yarn none the less. Mostly though, I recommend this book above most others for a single stark reason, by the time Mr. Donihe reads this so called review safe and sound in his secluded mountian island retreat my minions will be slowly creeping up behind him, piano wire in their grubby little pinhead hands, ready to strike the blow that will fell the high and mighty writer of "fiction" at my command!

Why, you might ask? Simple, it was all a part of my master plan! Now my autographed copy of his book with fetch dozens, if not hundreds of dollars on eBay later tonight!

Who laughs the last laugh now mister last laughing laughter man, eh?

Anyhoo, help out a fellow writer and buy the cat's book. Shit, just click on that link down there and the guy'll just let you read it online, he won't mind, really. Fuck man, I TOLD YOU IT WAS WORTH READING, so what are you waiting for? Go, read, get the fuck outta here, man.

Just remember to come right back here after, ok? I swear I'll update more often if you do, trust me.

"It is my firm belief that it is a mistake to hold firm beliefs.”
- Principia Discordia

God I need a valium or something...
-The Swann

2003-04-16T00:26:00.000-07:00

“If you think this world is bad you should see some of the others.”
-Philip K. Dick

Well howdy high children of loss and corn castoff celebrity, yer ol' pal Gideon back from a brief sabbatical amid the purple green poppy fields of Kentucky. As you might have noticed above we have ourselves a quote from the elusive and quite dead Mr. Dick as the introduction to today's sermon. There's a reason behind this, naturally.

After what seemed an eternity, a great gift of WORDS fell from heaven and into my grubby little hands for me to salivate over and possibly catch something from. You see, this book in question is a work of pure genius, or something so unknown that it may very well defy equation. Having spoken (well, played e-tag with) several times with the author in question I am forced to admit that, as much as his writing might otherwise lead one to believe, he is far from stark raving mad. The book is called "Shall we Gather at the Garden?" by Kevin L. Donihe.

Tomorrow night, hopefully, we'll have the very first "serious" book review this poor blog has ever seen.

Until then I've got plenty of blood on my hands to wash off, a tub to hose down, and several cases of chemical solvent to process before the sun also rises, so to speak.

Tiempo de la matanza en una mente universal,
-The Swann

2003-04-06T21:53:00.000-07:00

ROACH WAR 2003... THIS TIME, IT'S PERSONAL!

With the coming entrance of the fetid wasted of swampland summer comes the next front of my ongoing war. The infestation began just after dawn, the skitter skatter of tiny legs mucking about an empty can of beer long forgotten from the night before. A normal person would barely have noticed, let alone be woken up by it, by not I, a roach warrior. My .22 blew a hole straight through the can and into the wall laeving a tine smear of bug goo in it's wake. I smiled, but only briefly, as a mocking head popped up to see if I was still about then back into the can. That's when I knew that... drastic measures needed to be taken.

The lighter fluid was right there, right next to my hand. So was the box of blue tip wooden matches. I put two and two together and next thing ya know, POOM! bug kabob. I took only a moment to gloat over my victory over the hive minded feind before I heard a slight noise behind me and realized I had fallen for the oldest trap in the book.

I swung around to face a dozen or so of their bull tribe monsters. Big ole Texas cuaracha muthafukas. And even though I know it was just a hallucination I can still swear those motherbitches had vampire fangs and puddle of drool unred them. After a beat, they came at me, imaginary fangs bared and chittering. I opened fire.

Moments later I stood over their smoldering remains, a flaming can of Raid in one hand and my repeat reloading .22 in the other. Using the fire leaking off the tip of the Raid can I lit my unfiltered Camel and took a long deep drag of pure poison secure in the knowledge that I was, even if for a moment, living in a roach free world.

But, as always, I knew that terrible truth. That no matter how hard I fight them, no matter how cruel I am to them, they will always come back, and in even greater numbers. God, it's so much easier to just kill people, hehe. Have a great night people, and beware the Roaches!

2003-04-04T22:53:00.000-08:00

What I silly bastard I am

I started that last post with a TOTALLY different idea in mind and just lost myself in a terrible rant, so here I am, mere minutes later posting the correct post fer the night. Now, I know what y'all might be thinking, what the shit else could have been more important than a blatantly anti-Xian rant about smokes? Well, simply, it's a pre pre release review of Radiohead's new cd "Hail to the Thief".

Thanks to the ultra helpful folks over at MSNBC and a cat I choose not to name who emailed me the shit last night I can review a rough cut of this almost amazing cd quite sometime before it's offical release. Long story short, MSNBC came out with a story about how the new radiohead cd had been stolen and posted on the net and my guy very quickly (almost TOO quickly, if you ask me) found the shit on a simple Google search and sent the shit to me post haste. So, here we go, keep in mind this is not the final mix of the tracks, in fact, according to the track listing on Amazon what I've got is at least two tracks short of material. Shit, did I just ues the word tracks three times in a single sentence? That's gotta be a record, at least for me.

Anyhoo, here we go...

It doesn't suck. It's better than the Bends and Pablo Honey combined and it just eeks ahead of Amnesiac but compare it to the sheer genius of both OK Computer and Kid A it wilts like a fragile flower in a pot of lyme. It's more a return to their rock 'n roll roots with a couple of newer feeling tracks thrown in. Again, as it's been written elsewhere, these tracks are really the very first mix of the cd, all early mixes of what goodness we're gonna hear when the cd FINALLY comes out. And no matter what else I say about this muthafucka, I've already got my pre-order in the day this baby comes out on the real cd. Just listening to the rough cuts of this bad boy you just know it's gonna sound soooo sweet once it's mixed and cut in a nice tight 62 minutes or so. Anyone that just downloads mp3's of this bitch and dosen't buy the cd when it comes out is just a sheer jackass, it's just that good. Not that it don't got it's faults, but there ain't many. Shit, it's biggest problem is the same problem EVERY radiohead cd that comes out from now on is gonna have, measuring up to OK and Kid A.

So make of it what y'all will I've already deleted the shit from my hard drive in anticipation of the offical release... then again, if I had a cd burner I'd think differently, hehe. Later kids.

sitting down, standing up
-The Swann

2003-04-04T22:24:00.000-08:00

Keeping the back heels of the smoke demon in my boots

or

Why isn't smoking a sin?

I'm watching demons in the skin of children preach their twisted brand of gospel in a documentary called "Hellhouse" on the Sundance network. And, once again, I'm drinking mass quantities of alcohol and being just bewildered by the fucking oddness of the human animal. And, as I watch this train wreck of "god fearing" folk on my teevee, I am smoking like a chimney demon. On top of that, the evil fish dinner the matron in charge insisted we eat in honour of lent (whatever the fuck that would mean to me) is coming up on me like I was Honda Lee in a Ron Jeremy/ Harry Reems sandwitch.

Anyhoo, I'm watching this silly shit about Xian "Hellhouses". You know, those shithole pagan traps that pop up every Halloween season. They feature anti-abortion propaganda, anti- drug propaganda, anti- well- whatever you got propaganda. cocksuckers. Poisoning the weak and fragile minds of simple youth with their lies of a demonic conspiracy in middle american society. Bastard wankers, the lot of them. Hey, Columbine copy cats of the world, next time why don't y'all rise up in the middle of one of these "festivals" and go on yer idiotic shooting spree there instead of High School where most sane kids don't even want to be in the first fucking place?

Did you know that Pokemon, and Magic the Gathering are TOOLS OF THE DEVIL?!

Fucking idiots. Don't you know that the only game Satan wants you to play is MONOPOLY?! Then again, I really do kick some serious ass at Monopoly, make of that what you will.

Again though, I seem to have lost the point of this little rant of mine, the point of which was the question of why smoking isn't a sin.

Well, to be frank, it damn well should be. Suicide sure as hell is. And, no matter what yer average smoker might claim to believe, smoking is suicide. With each drag of poison I take in I realize, hey, I'm gonna fucking die from this... cool! See, what's cool about it is it's like braking the rules of the heavenly contract. Like cheating God and shit. Look at me, I'm killing myself and there ain't no rule sayin' I damn well can't and not be a Xian. Idiots. I'm fucking the devil up his ass with his hooves in my boots to keep his bloody red ass from jumping away.

In other news...

We here at the Shite Site are conducting a new series of tests concerning the potency of medical marijuana and we need your help. If you have any "samples" you would like to have tested by myself, ruin, Satori, sTig, Lono deLarge, or even Mr. Vincent Black then just email any of us for information on what PO Box to send the "samples" to and we'd all be more than happy to help you out.

And if you'd like more information on any of today's topics please fell free to vist yer local library or just go fuck yerself. Either way I don't really give a shit. And hey, just have fun out there...

I killed Baby Jane,
-The Swann

2003-04-02T20:53:00.000-08:00

Look, first off let me say that, yes, I have been drinking. Second, I don't usually subscribe to weirdo crackpot theories that don't involve a "lone gunman". With that in mind let's see what silly shit yer in for...

I've been on this Earth fer a mere 30 years and NEVER, I mean NEVER have I seen anything like this shit. Otherwise normal, intelligent, bright people have just gone fuckin' apeshit here. And I don't just mean the Rush licking, Trent Lott sniffing ultra conservitive right wing war hawks. But also the save the whales, macrobiotic public figure celebritarians and dove jockeys. All gone apeshit.

Why is that?

It is said that in the endtimes, in the Xian mythos, all will be swayed by the lies of the Beast. For good and for bad. Hmmm... let's think about that for a minute. How many of your friends have gone apeshit over this little "oil fight"? On both sides of the issue, Americans have just plain gone nuts. Myself included.

FUCK YOU MUTHAFUCKERS YOU DARE TO SCREAM AGAINST ME!

huh? oh shit, it happened again. i better go now, uncle jack is coming over, i gotta hide...

-The Swann

2003-04-01T23:32:00.000-08:00

I hate you commie bastards!

I was in a cab yesterday, waiting for God to give me a ride. Not in any sexual sense, but more in a metaphysical way. I wanted a ride home from the crime scene, nothing more, nothing less.

We had spent the night trolling for Iraqi sympathizers in a beatnik bar. Waiting for OUR time to strike as the pure blooded AMERICANS that may friends and I are, and are PROUD to be. SO we waited as the lowlifes and scumbags made their anitwar protests apparent. Our laser like focus zeroed in, rather quickly, on a teenage girl named "Sunflower" who was singing Joan Biaz songs on her harpsicord and spouting Susan Sarandon catchphrases. From our obsessive sessions of Rush deprograming, we knew she was a commie pinko lezbo, so we followed her out of the club.

Long story short, her biker socialist boyfriend beat the living shit out of us with copper saps and we bled forty blocks as no cab would stop and pik up a bunch of drunken and bloody fratboys wearing "DIE ISLAM" tee shirts. I bet if we were JEWS we woulda gotten a ride!

Tomorrow night we go FAG HUNTING!

-Silus P. Worwhinthington, from his suite at the Four Seasons, on Spring BReak

And now a voice of hope, Lono deLarge, from his soundproof headquarters under the Utah hardpack

Fuck you you goddamn fucking fuckers! I am the son of intolerence and bile, I am the quiet stepchild of infamous traitors and the freedom of information hudsucker! My blood made sheep cum and kittens drink, I paid my dues to the secret service of the skinthief industry. I am the queersuit fleshbag that berates you in desponic satanic suicide. Death is coming and you sad bastard fuckers won't even see it coming. Die you useless humans, die.

There you go, two sides of the same argument. Hope it helped some of you decide...
-The Swann

2003-03-29T14:02:00.000-08:00

Some of us were simply born to die.

Not me, of course. Otherwise I wouldn't be writing this crap and you wouldn't be reading it. We are THE LUCKY FEW, the ones with destiny behind our actions, however vauge they may be. The chosen ones, the vibrant few, the paradox surfers and dream weavers. Propaganda don't work on us, doublespeak sounds just like bad hip hop to us. We are special, and not in that short bus way. You, me, and I... we are all the illuminated, the last true secret society, so secret that even the members don't know they exist.

So keep yer mouth shut you fucker!

My love is the sword of Budda,
GGS

2003-03-29T13:20:00.000-08:00

Do you love your guns, God, and the government?

"Who, if I screamed, would hear me among the angelic orders? And even if one of them suddenly pressed me against his heart, I would fade in the strength of his stronger existence. For Beauty is nothing but the beginning of Terror that we're still just able to bear, and why we adore it is because it serenely disdains to destroy us." -Gravity's Rainbow (aka the second most difficult novel to ever read in the English language)

"I'm not a slave to a God that doesn't exist! I'm not a slave to a world that doesn't give a shit! The death of One is a tragedy!" -MM

Cloaked in blood and the dreams of insomniactic blues I spread my woeful seed of dischord allll ova the world, praise Jesus! I never really hated what this world gave me, but the people that gave me this world in the first fucking place. It's all a shoddy sham, WAKE UP YOU POOR BASTARDS! I know at least two of you, my converted choir, that know the truth of my ranting today, or is it tonight? Too many days and nights of sleepless anxiety become placid confusion in my tired mind's eye.

"For a literary standard by which we can measure Pynchon in this book we must turn to Nabokov, the master of fictional chess, magus of Anti-Terra, mirror world to our own, the realist-surrealist of fabulous skills. The operative emotion in Nabokov's work is nostalgia, a melting sentimental remembrance of Russian things past, which is converted into the total intellectual possession of a compensatory (and grander) verbal world, combining past, present and future, ruled by its only creator, the omnipotent author. (In its more grandiose and querulous manifestations, such as "Ada" and the recent gray conceit "Transparent Things," Nabokov's self-preservative and self- celebrating elaborations are repellently narcissistic.) "

Is it me, or did that quote make NO sense to you? And yet it was published in that salwart basin of hope, the New York Times, circa 1973. 'Round about the birth of a certain lady love of mine, just another astounding coinciDANCE of confusion and weirdness that came about that year of our Lord.

Some might even say I was in love, in sexual love, with my own death, but that would just be plain wrong. I'm in love with death only as a natural function of my own art. Everything else is mere conjecture...

"Get high on violence, baby?"

Not today, at any rate. More like I get high on other's discontent. I see marines blown to bits on teevee screaming and just chuckle to my self. "Bitch, you knew I was a snake..." and all that. When did patriotism and stupidity become the same word? Maggots chew on flesh, call each other silly names, do we make them pay? Do we make them the same? Do we make them as we just so want to be?

That's how I know that I'm not alone. When the worms of the Earth stop singing, when the virus stops contaminating, when the song comes to a close... that's when I know... it's time to go. I saw a green field and almost cried, knowing soon it won't exist anymore, even without sleep the dreams hammer into me. I think I need some better drugs, maybe that will kill the demon.

"...Who claims Truth, Truth abandons. History is hir'd, or coerc'd, only in Interests that must ever prove base. She is too innocent, to be left within the reach of anyone in Power,—who need but touch her, and all her Credit is in the instant vanish'd, as if it had never been. She needs rather to be tended lovingly and honorably by fabulists and counterfeiters, Ballad-Mongers and Cranks of ev'ry Radius, Masters of Disguise to provide her the Costume, Toilette, and Bearing, and Speech nimble enough to keep her beyond the Desires, or even the Curiosity, of Government..." -Mason & Dixon (the 3rd hardest novel to ever finish in the english language)

This is your salvation wake up call. Sorry it's coming a wee bit too late to save any of us, but at least we tried. Have fun in the aftertime my bitches...

Who's that now?
GGS

2003-03-28T01:16:00.000-08:00

And now for a break in the continuity...

This has to be a fucking April Fool's joke come early otherwise it's the best damn news story I've ever read.

'TIME-TRAVELER' BUSTED FOR INSIDER TRADING
Wednesday March 19, 2003
By CHAD KULTGEN
NEW YORK -- Federal investigators have arrested an enigmatic Wall Street wiz on insider-trading charges -- and incredibly, he claims to be a time-traveler from the year 2256!

Sources at the Security and Exchange Commission confirm that 44-year-old Andrew Carlssin offered the bizarre explanation for his uncanny success in the stock market after being led off in handcuffs on January 28.
"We don't believe this guy's story -- he's either a lunatic or a pathological liar," says an SEC insider.
"But the fact is, with an initial investment of only $800, in two weeks' time he had a portfolio valued at over $350 million. Every trade he made capitalized on unexpected business developments, which simply can't be pure luck.
"The only way he could pull it off is with illegal inside information. He's going to sit in a jail cell on Rikers Island until he agrees to give up his sources."
The past year of nose-diving stock prices has left most investors crying in their beer. So when Carlssin made a flurry of 126 high-risk trades and came out the winner every time, it raised the eyebrows of Wall Street watchdogs.
"If a company's stock rose due to a merger or technological breakthrough that was supposed to be secret, Mr. Carlssin somehow knew about it in advance," says the SEC source close to the hush-hush, ongoing investigation.
When investigators hauled Carlssin in for questioning, they got more than they bargained for: A mind-boggling four-hour confession.
Carlssin declared that he had traveled back in time from over 200 years in the future, when it is common knowledge that our era experienced one of the worst stock plunges in history. Yet anyone armed with knowledge of the handful of stocks destined to go through the roof could make a fortune.
"It was just too tempting to resist," Carlssin allegedly said in his videotaped confession. "I had planned to make it look natural, you know, lose a little here and there so it doesn't look too perfect. But I just got caught in the moment."
In a bid for leniency, Carlssin has reportedly offered to divulge "historical facts" such as the whereabouts of Osama Bin Laden and a cure for AIDS.
All he wants is to be allowed to return to the future in his "time craft."
However, he refuses to reveal the location of the machine or discuss how it works, supposedly out of fear the technology could "fall into the wrong hands."
Officials are quite confident the "time-traveler's" claims are bogus. Yet the SEC source admits, "No one can find any record of any Andrew Carlssin existing anywhere before December 2002."
Weekly World News will continue to follow this story as it unfolds. Keep watching for further developments.

posted via yahoo news

2003-03-25T14:23:00.000-08:00

Somewhere outside the kentucky poppy fields...

Ten weeks up, nine down, road tripping our way to meet the merchandise in a ramshackled shack with a dirt poor floor. the radio howls biblical verse and war updates. the cell phone rings with the voice of a dying lamb, it's throat slit east to west, it's eyes pierced closed with blood. ruin sucks back a box of bad fried chicken and birch beer. an RC cola half full of 151 between my legs, unfiltered Camel between my teeth, melting plastic hot cell phone in my hand.

I take a quick peek at the caller ID; zazo the gimp. Either the poor fuck is dead and gone, an insane hell bitch cold grasping his phone or our main man in clown drag's gonna be OK.

"HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET THIS NUMBER!" I howl into the reciever in my best Mr. T voice.
"Mr. Gideon, sir?"
"Zazo, my boy, how ever did you evade that vile cunt that come hunting us in the night?"
"She's right here, sir. She wants me to tell you to 'come home and face the music' as she says. She says she'll kill me if you don't."
"I'll get back to ya on that one Zaz, keep the little lady cool 'til I call back, dig?"
But sir..."
I close the cell and ask ruin his opinion as I swerve to avoid running into a man walking his goat.

"Let's get this deal done at the farm, see where the visions take us." his eyes gleem behind mirrorshade Okley's, I can hear it in his voice.

To the farm it is and I pick up speed turning off the expressway and towards the poppy farm...

Shadow is waiting outside the barn for us, unseemly painted in soiled overalls and combat boots. You'd never think to know that just two years ago this recently legal hoedown honey was a flipper tripper gothic goddess dancing her life away by my side, blade in her moon white hand. Now she's grown up herself a crop of genetically altered poppys.
Impregnated with sweet salvia venom, these massive unattractive hybred plants fill an entire field. And best of all, totally legal... for now. Her brother, Rey had informed her to our impending arrival and current situation. She took us inside without a word of greeting and began to prepare the mixture for us...

We laid prone as the dosage was administered. we felt the force of god enter our minds, preaching truth and bashing the views of the infidels. we laid that way for what seemed a week...

then a golden gong rang true, gave us our voices back and opened our eyes to the horrors around us. shit blew up. shit blew up some more. then we knew that fucking GOD was speaking to us!

"REPENT MUTHAFUKAS, YER ASSES BE MINE, SILLY BITCHES!"

and then the word was made flesh and CNN came on the tv, and we all threw up upon each other.

and then ruin said unto me, "shit man, at least it wasn't fox news."

fuck it. we're going home.

2003-03-11T13:32:00.000-08:00

A race on the edge of extiction

Kentucky. Three days off and on the road, a motel across the street from what can only be either a speakeasy fried chicken palace or a low rent brothel with a fetish for mauve neon adornments. Spent most of the night making calls, working the telex mojo in the backroom of a Dairy Queen, trying to raise enough cash for some serious firepower. When you've got the devil on yer ass the last thing you want is to be firing a potato gun out the shattered back window of a stolen Jag. Sadly, it seemed, Ruin and I had called in all our outstanding favors and debts from all across the globe. We were on our own, and worst of all now we had a mad as hell Rey Jones trying to run us down as well.

Apparently he did not find our little prank very becoming for a dealer of his high standing. Nevermind that he had been out of the game for years and for the most part had been living off my good name ever since. Shit, I once caught the bastard attempting to pick up some J.C. poontang at a Clearwater dive bar waving around my novel and calling hisself Gid. Fair play, old boy. Fair play...

Just before dawn, skipping out on another MasterCard we'd never see again along with the vile moon crater-ridden face of the night manager of that piss stinking motel, we got the call on my cell. Finally, a windfall...

We had a safehouse, but there was a small catch; it looked like I was about to embark into the pimping bidniz...

2003-03-09T20:03:00.000-08:00

A bad scene in the swamp

It's been almost two weeks since that crazy bitch burst into ruin's shack sporting an ugly twelve gauge and half a bottle of everclear hanging tied to her belt with a velvet doo rag. Totally twisted with some sort of fever based whore-rage and bad vengence, cussing up a hellbroth of evil intensionsand generally making a fucking mess of the place. She took out our primary server with both barrels and a howl of madness. She wasted our entire stash of opium with a can of Raid and her zippo. The bitch even torched poor ruin's comic collection, the poor boy's been weeping almost constantly ever since.

Luckily we were both on a salvage run off the coast of Clearwater, trying to dig up the lost remains of a bygone pirate ship and finding only an oversized Bob's Big Boy statue some freak had left behind, apparently to simply toment us. By the time we got back to Rey's place I knew something was seriously wrong. Rey was jumping all over the place, screaming about some massive shit going down at HQ, all but spitting with rage into his Jack and Coke. Inside, we watched the whole horrible affair Rey took off our security cam. It was beyond depressing.

Ruin, of course, blamed me. Understandable in light of the warning we had gotten earlier from her. I should have taken some sort of action, but it just wasn't to be. I wrote the thing off as an ugly hoax and it cost me. I pulled Rey aside and asked him how much cash he could spare.

"You fucker, what are you trying to do, I am not involved in this shit! That cunt'll come after me next, man! She knows where I live!"

I cut him off with a quick underhand jab with my "twin cobra" taser and he fell into a fetal position. Ruin raided his pockets while I got the keys to his Jag. Twenty minutes later we were on the road and on the run. As I drove into the endless horizon, sucking back the bottle of tequila I held between my legs, I could hear Rue softy muttering something about zombie lovers, the return of Lono, and a mask of leather with zazo's name on it. For a moment I felt a real pain for our friends and loved ones, the poor sorry sad bastards we were all but throwing into that merciless maw of that demon bitch who would, most likely, torture, hurt, and mutilate them while singing showtunes. What would that fat clown zazo do when she came for him?

I wouldn't find that out until last night...

2003-02-26T16:38:00.000-08:00

But I'm doing much better now...

So, I had the wonderful oppertunity to experience a light form of what is commonly known as a coma yesterday. Yay me. Having been very sick this past week I was feeling overly craptastic on Monday. All I wanted was slepp, but as usual, sleep wasn't coming soon enough. I sucked back a shot of Nyquil, nothing. Took two Simply Sleep, nothing. Took two more Simply Sleep, nada. An hour goes by, I take TWO MORE of the damned thing chased with another shot of the 'quil. I go lay down, close my eyes, listen to the soothing sounds on the CD player... nothing, no sleep. So, I go and get a beer... uh oh, some of y'all might be thinking. I pop open the can, fire up the puter and spend about twenty minutes writing the little love song you can find below. By this point I could tell that even though I wasn't tired, I was very very fucked up. I was seriously begining to hallucinate badly. I was talking to this guy Greg who I knew like in high school, he was right next to me just listening to me chatter away. Funny thing is, Greg's dead, baby. Greg died back in '94 from an exposed powerline electrocution out near Minnasota. Last thing I can remember that WAS real was just turning off the puter then blackness...

I woke up today just after four pm.

If my head didn't feel like it was full of poison cotten I'd do the math for you on that one. Gran was, needless to say, freaked the fuck out, unthrilled big time. She told me that if it wasn't for the fact that I just looked so damn peaceful and calm, she'd have called a fleet of ambulences on me. On the upside though, I don't seem to be sick anymore, so there's that.
And if it wasn't for my head full of static and the forboding sense of doom I'm having at the moment, I'd say I'm doing much better now, thanks.

So, to recap, I'm not dead, yet.
-The Swann

2003-02-24T20:11:00.000-08:00

Love Jag

sometimes
i said sometimes it's been
it's been so long
so long since i've
since i've found the time
the time to tell
to tell you how i've
how i've loved you so much
so much every night

can't you find that place
that place you need
me to touch you inside
sometimes i think you
couldn't find me there
there inside and waiting
for you
for you to see
what i really am

what used to be it
it used to be what
i thought it could
what it could ever be
but this thing it
this thing it wells up
all inside of me

makes me cry out at night
and crawl
crawl underneath what
what i thought i could
what i could hope to be
but now it seems
but now i am
what you always
what you always wanted me
wanted me to be

somebody help me find
that love i thought
what i thought could
could never be

oh she's a little girl
but she just makes me
makes me feel so
so so so
so full of life that
that life i thought
would never be
she eases my
my worried mind

now i've cried
cried so hard i thought
i thought i would bleed
but her eyes
it was her eyes
that made me see

somebody better hold me
hold me this time
i need my baby
i need her
this time

2003-02-24T18:52:00.000-08:00

Operation Fuck Up People's Lives That Are Really Doing Nothing Wrong

This makes me beyond sick...

WASHINGTON, DC -- Attorney General John Ashcroft and Acting DEA Administrator John B. Brown, III today announced the indictment of 50 individuals on charges of trafficking in illegal drug paraphernalia. The charges are the culmination of two nationwide investigations code-named Operation Pipe Dreams and Operation Headhunter and include indictments against national distributors of drug paraphernalia and businesses nationwide. DEA offices in Boise, Idaho; Des Moines, Iowa; Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania; and Dallas and Tyler, Texas were involved in these investigations.
"With the advent of the Internet, the illegal drug paraphernalia industry has exploded," Ashcroft said. "The drug paraphernalia business is now accessible in anyone's home with a computer and Internet access. And in homes across America we know that children and young adults are the fastest growing Internet users. Quite simply, the illegal drug paraphernalia industry has invaded the homes of families across the country without their knowledge. This illegal billion-dollar industry will no longer be ignored by law enforcement. Today, the Organized Crime Drug Enforcement Task Force, under the leadership of Deputy Attorney General Larry Thompson and Associate Deputy Attorney General Karen Tandy, has taken decisive steps to dismantle the illegal drug paraphernalia industry by attacking their physical, financial and Internet infrastructures."
The defendants have been charged with conspiracy to sell and offering to sell various types of drug paraphernalia, in violation of 21 U.S.C. Sections 846, 853 and 863. Federal law defines drug paraphernalia as those products that are primarily intended or designed to be used in ingesting, inhaling or otherwise using controlled substances, and include user-friendly and dealer-friendly devices. Items such as miniature scales, substances for "cutting" or diluting raw narcotics, bongs, marijuana pipes, roach clips, miniature spoons and cocaine freebase kits, among other things, are all considered drug paraphernalia.
All the defendants knowingly, intentionally and unlawfully sold the items for use with illegal narcotics. Many of the items were disguised as common objects such as hi-liters and lipsticks to elude detection as drug paraphernalia and were marketed using code names and symbols.
"People selling drug paraphernalia are in essence no different than drug dealers," said Acting Administrator Brown. "They are as much a part of drug trafficking as silencers are a part of criminal homicide. These criminals operate a multimillion dollar enterprise, selling their paraphernalia in headshops, distributing out of huge warehouses, and using the worldwide web as a worldwide paraphernalia market. With Operations Pipe Dreams and Headhunter, these criminals are out of business and 11 illicit dot.coms are dot.gone."
Each of us standing here today took an oath of office to uphold and enforce our nation's laws," said John P. Walters, Director of National Drug Control Policy. "The aggressive marketing of the tools and paraphernalia of drug use is illegal and has been an active affront to the efforts of parents, educators, and community leaders who are trying to help young people stay away from dangerous drugs. Today's actions send a clear and unambiguous message to those who would poison our children: We will bring you to justice, and we will act decisively to protect our young people from the harms of illegal drugs. I applaud the hard work of the Justice Department, the U.S. Attorneys, and the Drug Enforcement Administration, who have provided an important and welcome boost to our drug prevention efforts, and reaffirm the truth that no community, no city, no state, and no nation is better off with more drug use."
Federal law provides for a maximum total sentence of three years in prison, a fine of $250,000, or both, with respect to each count set forth in the indictments.
OPERATION PIPE DREAMS
The investigation leading to the indictments in this case was led by the Drug Enforcement Administration and the Organized Crime Drug Enforcement Task Force, along with the U.S. Marshals Service, U.S. Customs Service, U.S. Postal Inspection Service, Immigration and
Naturalization Service, Pennsylvania State Police, City of Pittsburgh Police, Allegheny County (Pa.) Sheriff, Stowe Township Police, Chippewa (Pa.) Police Department and the Duquesne (Pa.) Police Department.
The individuals named in the indictments are:
Joyce J. Adamy, a/k/a Joyce J. Kunkle, and d/b/a Phantasm, age 27, of Johnstown, PA.;
Jodey P. Bayle, d/b/a Pipe Emporium, d/b/a Sunrise Distribution, and d/b/a Pipesforyou.com, 48, of Erie, PA.;
Glen W. Beers, d/b/a G.W. Pipedreams, 29, of Clarion, PA.;
William A. Conover, d/b/a B&M Variety, 42, of Erie, PA.;
Christina A. Cummings, d/b/a Phantasm, 28, of Johnstown, PA.;
Michael Anthony Deblasio, d/b/a Heads-N-Threads, 24, of North Huntingdon, PA.;
Jason Robert Harris, d/b/a Jerome Baker Designs, Inc., d/b/a Ghettoweb, Inc., d/b/a Universal Glass, Inc., d/b/a Jeromebaker.com, d/b/a Ghettoweb.com, d/b/a Smokelab.com, and d/b/a Higher Source, 32, of Eugene, OR.;
Richard Kevin Jaussen, d/b/a Tela Ropa, Inc., 48, of Pittsburgh, PA.;
Ara Melkizian, d/b/a Omnilounge L.L.C., and d/b/a Omnilounge.com, 29, of North Hollywood, CA.
Saeed Mohtadi, d/b/a Jerome Baker Designs, Inc., d/b/a Ghettoweb, Inc., d/b/a Universal Glass, Inc., d/b/a Jeromebaker.com, d/b/a Ghettoweb.com, d/b/a Smokelab.com, and d/b/a Higher Source, 32, of Eugene, OR.;
John Matthew Patrick, d/b/a California Colorchangers, Inc., and d/b/a Colorchangingglass.com, 38, of Forestville, CA.;
Randolph Przekop, d/b/a Slacker, Inc., 36, of Pittsburgh, PA.;
Ahmad Rakine, d/b/a A&E Wholesalers, Inc., 20, of Pembroke Pines, FL.;
Eric M. Rodgers, d/b/a Stone Artworx, Inc., 32, of Phoenix, AZ.;
Edward Ian Rothschild, d/b/a Edward Rothschild Entertainment, Inc., d/b/a Rothschild Consulting, Inc., d/b/a Gothic Dungeon, d/b/a 420now.com, d/b/a 420smile.com, d/b/a Gothicdungeon.com, d/b/a Testingfree.com, and d/b/a Themallusa.com, 48, of Columbia, SC;
David V. Stone, d/b/a Stone Artworx, Inc., 38, of Phoenix, AZ.;
Mary Louise Stone, d/b/a Stone Artworx, Inc., 58, of Glendale, AZ.;
Ryan Vaughn Struble, d/b/a Headcase, and d/b/a Aheadcase.com, 30, of
Diamond Bar, CA;
Ryan Teurfs, d/b/a 101 North Glass, Inc., d/b/a The Glass House, and d/b/a 101north.net, 29, of Arcata, CA.;
Inez M. Thompson, d/b/a Pipe Emporium, d/b/a Sunrise Distribution, and d/b/a Pipesforyou.com, 48, of Erie, PA.;
Jason Vrbas, d/b/a 101 North Glass, Inc., d/b/a The Glass House, and d/b/a 101north.net, 29, of Arcata, CA.;
John Lee Walker, a/k/a John Lee Walker, Jr., d/b/a Headcase, and d/b/a Aheadcase.com, 35, of Riverside, CA.;
Gabriel Watson, d/b/a 101 North Glass, Inc., d/b/a The Glass House, and d/b/a 101north.net, 29, of Arcata, CA.;
Anthony Yanow, d/b/a Hot Comet Enterprises, d/b/a Puff Pipes, d/b/a Atmospheres Lifestyles of LA, and d/b/a Puffpipes.com, 31, of Los Angeles, CA;
Waleed A. Zahrieh, d/b/a Wicked Corp. and d/b/a Sands of Time, 37, of Los Gatos, CA.;
Nessar David Zahriya, d/b/a Wicked Corp. and d/b/a Sands of Time, 39, of San Mateo, CA.; and
Tracie Lynn Zimmerman, d/b/a Heads-N-Threads, 34, of North Huntingdon, PA.
National Distributors
Named in the indictments announced today are 17 individuals who operated 10 national distribution companies of drug paraphernalia.
The following persons operated six businesses based in California:
Melkizian operated Omnilounge L.L.C. which also did business over the internet as omnilounge.com.
Patrick was charged as the operator of California Colorchangers, which did business as colorchangingglass.com.
Teurfs, Vrbas and Watson operated another internet company named 101north.net, which also did business as 101 North Glass and The Glass House.
Yanow has been indicted for running puffpipes.com, which also did business as Hot Comet Enterprises and Atmospheres Lifestyles of L.A.
Struble and Walker were charged with operating aheadcase.com, also known as Headcase.
Zahriya and Zahrieh were indicted in conjunction with their operation of the Sands of Time and its successor business, Wicked Corporation.
The individuals who ran the four other national operations charged were:
Rothschild did business under all of the names listed above, and Gothic Dungeon in Columbia, SC;
Rakine operated A&E Wholesalers in Pembroke Pines, FL.;
C Stone, Stone and Rodgers ran Stone Artworx in Phoenix, AZ.; and
Harris and Mohtadi owned Jerome Baker Designs and the other companies in
Eugene, OR.
Regional Retail Shops
Ten individuals who sold drug paraphernalia in retail shops in the Western District of Pennsylvania also face charges of conspiracy, offering for sale, and selling drug paraphernalia. The defendants in Pennsylvania are:
Beers, G.W. Pipedreams, Clarion
Conover, B&M Variety, Erie
Jaussen, Tela Ropa, Pittsburgh
Thompson and Bayle, Pipe Emporium, Sunrise Distribution and pipesforyou.com, Erie
Zimmerman and Deblasio, Heads-N-Threads, North Huntingdon
Adamy and Cummings, Phantasm, Johnstown
Przekop, Slacker, Inc., Pittsburgh
OPERATION HEADHUNTER
The DEA resident office in Des Moines, Iowa, initiated an investigation into the sale and distribution of drug paraphernalia at headshops in Southern Iowa in January 2000. Federal search warrants executed at four such businesses in Iowa resulted in the seizure of more than $2 million in drug paraphernalia. The searches also implicated various national distributors, including four companies indicted today.
The investigation leading to the indictments in this case was led by the DEA, along with the U.S. Marshals Service, U.S. Customs Service, U.S. Postal Inspection Service, U.S. Secret Service, Polk County (Iowa) Sheriff's Office and the Des Moines (Iowa) Police Department.
The individuals named in the four indictments brought in the Southern District of Iowa, announced today, include:
Alan Bruce Clute, a/k/a Bruce Clute, and Lawrence Charles Bowman, d/b/a Smoky Mountain Trading Co, d/b/a Dream Factory Boutique and d/b/a Strange Daze Boutique, Detroit.
Jose Corona Zavala, Jr., Juan Luis Zavala and Clinton Lee Goodson, d/b/a The Other Side, d/b/a The Crush, d/b/a The Worx, d/b/a The Bomb, d/b/a Toys in the Attic and d/b/a Artistic Alchemy Manufacturing, Sacramento and North Hollywood, Calif.
manda Claire Ballard, a/k/a Amanda Claire Irwin, a/k/a Mandi Claire Ballard, a/k/a Mandi Claire Irwin and Allison Blakely Ballard, d/b/a Acme Distributing and Mfg., d/b/a Acme Distributing, d/b/a Smoke Stax and d/b/a A & M Gifts, Houston.
Catherine Nicole Adamson and Bruce Dean Ross d/b/a Grow Industries, d/b/a Zong Toy Company, d/b/a Zong Industries, d/b/a ZTC, d/b/a Seedless and d/b/a Seedless Clothing Company Shea Artis McComb, San Diego, Calif.

Oh, and special thanks to the DEA for letting me steal their text. Well, at least these fine folk can now be added to the wall of martyrs for the cause. Now, as some of you might know, I've not had a puff of the wicked weed in many many months, if not years, but that still does not blunt my convictions. What began as a war of economy has now evolved into a war of personal freedom! The fanatics in the Bush jaunta have declared open war upon all things that do not fit into their middle America paradigm, be it anti-war, pro-choice, or even those of us that relish our personal freedom. It's like our government has told us YOU MUST CHOOSE COKE NOT PEPSI, PEPSI IS OF THE DEVIL! But what about those of us that like Pepsi? Fuck it. There's no point in even protesting. Nothing short of Jesus Christ reborn on Earth and saying weed ain't no bad thing is gonna change their minds (and even then they wouldn't listen, the real Jesus would scare the shit out of these scumbags). sigh. I need a fucking nap... in Canada.

Pissed off and drunk,
-The Swann

2003-02-20T01:13:00.000-08:00

the still point

"this is how things really are"
the voice boomed inside me
"this is the world you deny"
all around me hyperdimensional children played
a sky unfit to hold shape weighed down upon me
"we are the lesser gods"
puddles of understanding welled up everywhere
a song of gloy and sorrow vibrating within my soul
"give in, let your body go"
swirling blackness below where my feet should stand
i wordlessly ask if i am dying or already dead
"you died the moment you were born"
and then pure flight, motion beyond travel expelled me
universes crumble around me as my mortality gives way
"you expect too much, traveler"
fourth dimensional math fragments play havok all around
a mandala engulfs my brain as i dive into pure dream
"find the line"
a cyclopian tower emerges before dilated eyes open wide
screams of colour and taste escape it's flying buttresses
"hit the still point"
crystalian dijins try to draw me in, invite me over for tea
a veil of stars play across my face as grey night sets in
"just let it all go"
the voice begins to echo out to softness and right angles
"open your eyes and see"

ten minutes gone, it felt like a lifetime

2003-02-14T02:10:00.000-08:00

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!

Hiyahiya kats and kittens, and a big howdy do to all my regular visitors. No v-day rants and raves from me today, nope. Maybe later tonight, maybe not ya never know. Anyhoo, the insomnia has just gotten WAY out of hand these sleepless nights. Passed out yesterday around 8:30EST after having been up like 40+ hours straight only to wake the fuck back up just after 2am. Hopefully once the sun rises on this fetid swamp we can go to town and get some decent "sleep enhancers" of any make or model.

Ah well, enough of that, hope y'all like the pic, I made it myself. Gotta run, work to do...

Somewhere outside the realm of awake and asleep,
-The Swann

2003-02-12T03:09:00.000-08:00

I came upon a sea of blood screaming. hating what this earth has done. we, the army ants of history, the second children of Eris aborted, the feast of feinds felled upon God's green Earth. i cast a plague upon our "leaders", the retarded children that run the mass fear machine that is our daily lives. i cast boils upon the war mongers and oil tycoons and jyhad monsters, the Xians that proclaim pro life and kill the children that don't subscribe to their poison dogma, the very bastards of history our time is filled with. I am the holy agent of disinformation, casting TRUTH upon the unwashed masses of flacid rich and bored poor. The TV special you just CAN'T FUCKING MISS! The twist ending to your favorite "book". The end times Naz with a spare clip and two hookers filling me with wine, dope, and cold hard cash. Yer universal pimp of Prophesy, yer dogmatic yippie full of Papal promise and secular vim.

Give me yer soulless masses, yer disjointed youth, yer fast food junkies and television whores. Give me yer hopeless, yer nerds, yer geeks, you're doomed.

You just can not believe what I've seen with your eyes.
-The Swann

2003-02-10T19:52:00.000-08:00

Ain't I pretty?

Woohoo... time to put up or shut up. Time To do my thing, fer real. This is now, and evermore, a pay site baby! No money from yer pockets, only mine. No more ads, no more text only communications, only pure blogging joy and bliss.

Coming soon, right here and every now and then, Swann Strips, our new featured web comic. Stay tuned bruthas and sistahs, 'cuse fun is right around every corner!

Where's mah knickers?
-The Swann

2003-02-03T22:14:00.000-08:00

I cast thee out, sweet insomnia

Half a quart of Jack, three hours in the dark. No fucking sleep. Then these words found me, such a strange paradox, the closer to the end of my life the more time I feel has been given to me. Death is no longer facinating, it has become a companion, a trustee to my future, or at least the future of my possible offspring. And through it all I become simply more alone. No matter how many followers I have, no matter how strongly I am loved, the universe could give less than a shit for me than it could for the fruit of my loins. Instead of oneness I feel isolation. Instead of a whole I find a fragment of reality. When you come to think about it, no matter how far we "humans" come, we are not much different then the virus, a virus with shoes. Such are the thoughts I find upon my sleepless brain on this troubled night alone in the dark in a putrid swamp, miles, no, thousands of miles for the ones I truly love. I WANT sleep. I want it like a lover I once held in my sweaty arms under a July moon. I want it like a junkie dreams of that first spike into a virgin vein. I want it like the prom queen dressed up in duct tape under a neon moon of hourly rates and pockmarked faces leering into the semen stained window. And yet, she mocks me, holds her arms out like a loving goddess offering a fresh crop of souls, tempting me with her black chams and giving only bad infomercial promises and televangelist salvation...

This flawed perfection, cawing out to me with percise timing, and shamanistic visions, the siren's song of false hope... the single ego of sleepless hope, tearing me to pieces.

And here in the dark of black night and failed dreams I try and slumber, finding a dream that is only as real as only as long as it lasts.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm dead. If I died long long ago and am forced to relive my entire life like a bad videogame, over and over and over until I'm all out of extra lives...

Sometimes I beg God, late and night, when I wish I was sleeping, to give me the code to bypass this level, and get on with the being of being alive and not dreaming.

"HOW MANY OF YOU PEOPLE KNOW YOU'RE ALIVE?! HOW MANY OF YOU REALLY KNOW YOU'RE ALIVE?!"

In my waking life I sometimes scream silently, like an aborted fetus in a Christian propaganda reel. I scream so loud in my head that I just wake up fully, really KNOW I'm alive. But when you spend your life sleepless, how can you REALLY tell sleep from reality? How much is fantasy? How much is horror? How much is praying? How much is that absent feeling every time you go to work and hear your theme song in your head on the way?

I just don't know anymore.

And you know what the worst part is? I just don't care anymore. If this is a dream, then so be it. If this is a nightmare I can wake from, than I must let it play out and see the credits roll before I can fully write my judgement. Because, you see, I know a secret you don't.

I know the way out of the dream, to control it. The way to make it all in the NOW. To make myself exist.

And that is something 99% of you could never, ever, hope to grasp.

In the moment, always...
-The Swann

2003-01-31T21:14:00.000-08:00

Hi kids, wasn't gonna post tonight, but this story has me madder than all fucking Hell, and it has since it popped up in my inbox this morning. Took a quick break from my new project to post this injustice here. God, this shit makes me sick, our government at work...

Jan. 31, 2003 | SAN FRANCISCO (AP) -- An author of how-to books on growing marijuana and avoiding the law was convicted Friday of marijuana cultivation and conspiracy charges.
The federal jury concluded that Ed Rosenthal, the self-described "Guru of Ganja," was growing more than 100 plants, conspiring to cultivate marijuana and maintaining a warehouse for a growing operation. Rosenthal, 58, faces a maximum of 85 years in prison when sentenced June 4.
Several people in the courtroom, including Rosenthal's wife and daughter, wept as the verdicts were read by a court clerk.
"This was not a trial. It was called a kangaroo trial," Rosenthal, who remains free on bail, said Friday as supporters chanted: "We love you Ed."
The verdicts were a victory in the federal government's battle against California's 1996 voter-approved medical marijuana law. Rosenthal's arrest last year was among a string of Drug Enforcement Administration raids on medical marijuana suppliers in California.
Under strict orders from U.S. District Judge Charles Breyer, Rosenthal was never able to tell the jury that he was growing marijuana as "an officer" for the city of Oakland's medical marijuana program.
Oakland's program and others throughout California were authorized under Proposition 215. Eight other states also allow the sick and dying to smoke or grow marijuana with a doctor's recommendation.
But federal authorities do not recognize those laws.
"There is no such thing as medical marijuana," said Richard Meyer, a DEA spokesman. "We're Americans first, Californians second."
Jury foreman Charles Sackett III said outside court that jurors were following federal law in finding Rosenthal guilty, but he hoped the verdict would be overturned.
"We had no legal wiggle room," Sackett said.
The government essentially portrayed Rosenthal as a major drug supplier. Because federal laws trump state laws, Breyer ruled that Rosenthal could not defend himself under the color of California's Proposition 215. Marijuana, under federal rules, has no recognized medical benefit.
Rosenthal said he's anything but a drug dealer, noting that the plants agents seized didn't have buds, the part of the plant normally smoked for a high. He planned to give out cuttings to seriously ill people.
A founder of the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws, Rosenthal used to write the "Ask Ed" column for "High Times" magazine, and has researched and written nearly 20 books on marijuana.
Millions of copies have been sold, mostly in the United States, with titles such as "The Growers Handbook," ""The Big Book of Buds," and "Ask Ed: Marijuana Law. Don't Get Busted."

-From Salon.com (sorry guys for the deep linking)

This is just plain wrong. Makes me wonder if this is how "our government" portects us, then how can we trust anything they say about a war in Iraq? The good people of California voted for legal pot for medicinal use, but somehow the federal government trumps it? What good is it to even fucking vote? This is called progress in the anals of justice. Makes me wish I was a Canadian. All Mr. Bush, Jr. wants is war and oil. All the sick cancer patients of Cali want is their fucking appitites back and their pain lessened. Who has their finger on the pulse of community standards these days, the sick or the rich? Welcome to the end times my lovers of freedom and happy thoughts, welcome to the new Rome, all hail our Emperor elect!

assholes.

-The Swann

2003-01-25T20:19:00.000-08:00

On the run, standing still

Got a call from my lawyer today, it seems I'm more wanted than a Who reunion in Candyland. Ten counts of fraud, three counts of lewd behaviour, half a dozen counts of slander, and a whole slew of motions, it all amounts to a fabricated case of false insanity on the part of the various DA's and the foolish "people" they represent. It's like they got they hands in my "special" pocket, the one with the hole cut into it... nevermind that, it's all a sham, don't you ever believe what the good folks at MSNBC tell you before you go to bed. The birth betrayed, the marrage spent, signs for all to see...

Demons and rapists and molestors of innocents cry havok and walk freely, yet these so called good folk stalk me like rabid elk off season, waiting to plunge their nocturnal cocks into my veins. Not I, not now, not ever. This too shall pass, like a refugee... it's still early, they still have their chance to see freely, to hear my message of indifference and lust, to feel my words violate their sad clean minds like locuts on a dirt farm napping, waiting, biding their time of conquest.

I am your own sick god. And someday, I'll have a Paypal account, and force feed you to it... Praise Jabba,
-The Swann

2003-01-17T19:22:00.000-08:00

That fat fuck of a clown sure knows his comics, he's posted a whole shitload of strips over at Stripcreator since yesterday. If he keeps this shit up I'll have him up and out in the real world in no time. Hey, don't forget, you can comment on his silly shit over at his blog (the link's over there on the left, kids). Let's all try and keep the big guy happy and productive...

Kicking a clown out into the cold,
-The Swann

2003-01-16T02:09:00.000-08:00

The amazingly bad comics of zazo are now featured at Stripcreator.com. Please, help an out of work junkie clown get a fresh new start in the fast paced world of cartoon stripping. Maybe now that fat fuck in greasepaint'll get his drunk ass off my couch and get some cash of his own.

Either that or I'll start pimping him out to the local geriatrics, them bitches got the hard green for dopes in rainbow wigs I hear...

-The Swann

2003-01-15T10:32:00.000-08:00

Sleep Blogging

I had a whole long thing thought out last night to write here, honest I did. But, alas, sleep claimed me not soon before I simply forgot I had set myself upon task to write such stuff my mind made up. Eyes closed atop my chilly pillow slumbering, sleep blogging at it's most extreme, it seems, the dreams they were bizarre to say twice if not the least. And these mere words set crash course inside my dozing twisted noggin; he has taken the hill, tell them all. Campward bound work in progress, sitting on a bus, electronic gizmogadgets light up in hand as scooby doo mysteries play all around me in homicidal works of art made flesh. Climbing stairs literally, moving betwixt the bannisters, climbing higer and higher and thinking fourth dimentionally, proof is given of that theory. All as an abstract, a dreamworld emoticon shimmering in neon foglights, following me even after I awake.

Then I made some french toast, powdered sugar and all...
Sadly, it seems we are still out of both lox and the bagels themselves. Only you know what I mean...

I think I'll go outside and try an' capture me a skunkape today, anyone got any advice?

Down in... Florida,
-The Swann

2003-01-13T01:06:00.000-08:00

The torture never stops...

quoth the zappa...

I've been trying my hand at sleep, to no avail, but I didn't want to wake mah lady love, so here I am. Spewing my vile taunts at you all. Frank was right, the torture never stops...

Awake, thoughts of the sleeping city

Alone I walk
through the streets of nothing
Fake plastic trees and kudzu line ever path
a Disney wet dream transplanted
made flesh in a city to always sleeps
i stare upon signs that proclaim
2 for 1 drink specials after nine
but none are there to partake
it's past the bedtime for the undead
in their golf-cart smiles
and poly blend night shirts
to hard for them
to understand
this is then never ending dream
the utopia of the capitalist nightmare
a city on the edge of nothing
with a thousand TV stations to boast of
and it's only perverted "culture"
nostalgia given life and breath
a "village" unlike any that ever existed
the movie screen never lies...
"can't you even remember
the good ol' days?"
not in this lifetime buddy...
where the dead don't even know
what life means anymore.
Welcome to the Villages!

Sadly, this places really exists. Also, my guitar wants to kill yer mamma.
I love you all, but one most of all.
-The Swann

2003-01-09T23:14:00.000-08:00

Burn the Witches

Oh shit yo. The fucking power is bleedin' thru me... Fuckin' shit... wow.
Sure, I'm bleedin' and disoriented, that's par fer the course, man. I can grok that, but shit, this is real power flowing thru my veins.

I need a roman candle just to let off some steam. Any offers?

-The Swann

2003-01-06T18:53:00.000-08:00

One more year down the drain...

or

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!

One year. One fucking weird-ass year of blogging on my belt. Wow, where did the year go? Ah well, what's a freak in the jackass kingdom to do? Ah well, to continue our recent tradition of not really posting anything even worth remembering, here's another true fact from FT.com...

6 January. Old Christmas Day, Epiphany and Twelfth Night, which has taken over many of the customs associated with Saturnalia, the Roman Winter Festival. Cakes are still made with a bean inside; whoever gets the bean is king for the day, and can behave as he wishes until midnight. (one thing FT forgot to mention here is that at the end of the Bean King's reign he or she was usually beheaded before the entire village. you know, to make up for all the shit they had to put up with all damn day...) Fava ('bean' in Italian slang) means female genitalia, a continuation of the ancient Roman association of beans with fertility. Christmas is still celebrated on this day on the Shetland Island of Foula, whose inhabitants didn't change to the Gregorian calendar with the rest of Britain in 1752.

Anyhoo, I'd like to thank all of you that have made this site THE most requested website featuring the words "Carla Alapont" this side of Yxtian Mexico. Oh ya, and Dragon Ball Z porno. Lord knows I'm just balls deep into that shite.

For those few of you that have been coming here with so-called proper reasons, I thank you. Thank you for reading my silly stoopid shit. Please, feel free to email me sometime, even if it's just to belittle and berate me. I won't mind, that's what K-files are for.

Now don't let the virtual door hit you in the ass on the way out...

In the ladies room of the afterlife,
-The Swann

2002-12-31T23:51:00.000-08:00

"Pigs On The Wing (Part One)"

If you didn't care what happened to me,
And I didn't care for you
We would zig zag our way through the boredom and pain
Occasionally glancing up through the rain
Wondering which of the buggers to blame
And watching for pigs on the wing.

"Dogs"

You gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need
You gotta sleep on your toes, and when you're on the street
You gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed
And then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight
You gotta strike when the moment is right without thinking.
And after a while, you can work on points for style
Like the club tie, and the firm handshake
A certain look in the eye, and an easy smile
You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to
So that when they turn their backs on you
You'll get the chance to put the knife in.
You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder
You know it's going to get harder, and harder, and harder as you get older
And in the end you'll pack up, fly down south
Hide your head in the sand
Just another sad old man
All alone and dying of cancer.
And when you loose control, you'll reap the harvest that you've sown
And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone
And it's too late to loose the weight you used to need to throw around
So have a good drown, as you go down, alone
Dragged down by the stone.
I gotta admit that I'm a little bit confused
Sometimes it seems to me as if I'm just being used
Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise
If I don't stand my own ground, how can I find my way out of this maze?
Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending
That everyone's expendable and no-one has a real friend
And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner
And everythings done under the sun
And you believe at heart, everyone's a killer.
Who was born in a house full of pain
Who was trained not to spit in the fan
Who was told what to do by the man
Who was broken by trained personnel
Who was fitted with collar and chain
Who was given a pat on the back
Who was breaking away from the pack
Who was only a stranger at home
Who was ground down in the end
Who was found dead on the phone
Who was dragged down by the stone.

"Pigs (Three Different Ones)"

Big man, pig man, ha ha, charade you are
You well heeled big wheel, ha ha, charade you are
And when your hand is on your heart
You're nearly a good laugh
Almost a joker
With your head down in the pig bin
Saying "keep on digging"
Pig stain on your fat chin
What do you hope to find?
When you're down in the pig mine
You're nearly a laugh
You're nearly a laugh
But you're really a cry.
Bus stop rat bag, ha ha, charade you are
You fucked up old hag, ha ha, charade you are
You radiate cold shafts of broken glass
You're nearly a good laugh
Almost worth a quick grin
You like the feel of steel
You're hot stuff with a hat pin
And good fun with a hand gun
You're nearly a laugh
You're nearly a laugh
But you're really a cry.
Hey you Whitehouse, ha ha, charade you are
You house proud town mouse, ha ha, charade you are
You're trying to keep our feelings off the street
You're nearly a real treat
All tight lips and cold feet
And do you feel abused?
.....!.....!.....!.....!
You gotta stem the evil tide
And keep it all on the inside
Mary you're nearly a treat
Mary you're nearly a treat
But you're really a cry.

"Sheep"

Harmlessly passing your time in the grassland away
Only dimly aware of a certain unease in the air
You better watch out
There may be dogs about
I've looked over Jordan and I have seen
Things are not what they seem.

What do you get for pretending the danger's not real
Meek and obedient you follow the leader
Down well trodden corridors into the valley of steel
What a surprise!
A look of terminal shock in your eyes
Now things are really what they seem
No, this is no bad dream.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want
He makes me down to lie
Through pastures green he leadeth me the silent waters by
With bright knives he releaseth my soul
He maketh me to hang on hooks in high places
He converteth me to lamb cutlets
For lo,m he hath great power and great hunger
When cometh the day we lowly ones
Through quiet reflection and great dedication
Master the art of karate
Lo, we shall rise up
And then we'll make the bugger's eyes water.

Blasting and bubbling I fell on his neck with a scream
Wave upon wave of demented avengers
March cheerfully out of obscurity into the dream.

Have you heard the news?
The dogs are dead!
You better stay home
And do as you're told
Get out of the road if you want to grow old.

"Pigs On The Wing (Part Two)"

You know that I care what happens to you
And I know that you care for me
So I don't feel alone
Of the weight of the stone
Now that I've found somewhere safe
To bury my bone
And any fool knows a dog needs a home
A shelter, from pigs on the wind...

Happy New Year y'all.
-The Swann

All lyrics are property and copyright of their owners.
All lyrics provided for educational purposes only.
Animals, Copyright Pink Floyd

2002-12-31T00:31:00.000-08:00

Chasing the tail of this Dogma

or

2002, what the fuck?

So. Just finished watching Mulholland Dr. and was thinking, simply, what the fuck was that? I was mulling over the various plot points, dream sequences, characters, and whatnot of the films two and a half hours over and over in my mind when I realized a horrible truth.

David Lynch just filmed the equivilant of one of my poems.

It's very very pretty. You want to taste it in your mouth, you want to touch it, hold it, even if it makes no sense. You can tell it's saying something but you have no idea what that might be. Lines stick in your brain, disconnected from the greater whole. It is all just one big, beautiful, fragmented lie. A morallity play chasing the tail of it's own dogma.

Preaching to but paying no mind of the converted...

Anyhoo, the end is drawing nearer my li'l droogies. This disembarkment point fer the year of Our Lord Two thousand and Two. What the fuck was this whole fucking year about? It was like some cosmic greatest hits comp. A clip show of humanity at it's worst.

DC Sniper.
Enron.
Dubba choking on a fucking pretzel.
Bali blows up.
Asshole French bastards begin a "real life" clone war.
And must even I mention the visual abortion that is Roberto Benigni's Pinocchio?

God help us all.
Grant us twelve more months in which to set the world right.

One can only hope God doesn't get cable up in Heaven, otherwise, we're all as good as dead.

On that happy note I bid you a Happy New Year.
-The Swann

2002-12-28T10:00:00.000-08:00

28 December. Childermas, the festival of the Holy Innocents (in memory of the Bethlehem children massacred by King Herod). Children used to be whipped to remind them of the event. It was long believed to about the most unlucky day of the year, and it was advisable to avoid putting on new clothes, beginning any work or entering any important undertaking. To marry on Innocents' Day was especially inauspicious. The Tay Bridge disaster, when a passenger train fell into the Firth of Tay with great loss of life, took place on this day in 1879. -ft.com

2002-12-26T23:55:00.000-08:00

Have a Pony

Too much brandy wine, got mah nog on, yo. forgive mah spellin' errors, i'm too far gone.

For some reason, that Pony song from Let It Be is stuck in mah craw.

Tulips are pretty once set on fire.

This thing inside me looks alot like tapeworm or Lupus.

I think you need candy to live, or, at least to need to live on candy. Especially if Candy is the name of that hooker you've been living with fer the past 18 months.

Sometimes you just need to say, I'll eat that.

Goodnight, God bless, and kill a commie for Jeebus. Peace, yo.
Silent night, holy jackass...
-The Swann

2002-12-22T23:49:00.000-08:00

anticipation retraction

you sorry bastards looking for porn here, i pity you. then again i can relate, so all is forgiven, in a sense.

i don't think that i have really seen how amazing you can be.
i don't think that i can really stand how amazing you can be...

anyhoo, the last of my amber fluid is about to go down harder than Mira Max on a thousand man gangbang and all I can think of is mah li'l warrior priestess grrl. Passing by both the morning sun and snowboarding fortune to stand by mah side in the daylight hours. These days, as short as they may be, that means alot.

Wanna know a secret? It'll hurt some of you, mah loyal readers and possible groupies, but it needs to be said.

I love her. Waaaaaay too much fer mah own good.

Mah partner in crime, mah fellow inmate, mah one true ring, miz kittie kins dementia 13. Oh how lovely she is. "She has... everything. " As mah old friend Dave Navarro would say. By the by, he sez high to all you reformed junkies. Send him all the CARE packages you can, Carmen keeps his junk on a short suppy.

Now, some of you might remember, that ill fated and highly fictional journey I took to Vegas a couple years ago to marry a virgin priestess. This is nothing like that, this is, as far as aye can tell, True Love. Other than that, it's aboot the same.

So, anyone who might doubt the truth of this, feel free to email me yer objections. I'd love to hear yer pleas of undying love, really, it'll make mah day. Other than that, well, y'know how it goes. Y'all outta the loop, so fuck off, hehe.

Either way, I do love you all fer reading mah silly shit, even when aye don't update fer weeks on end, stick with me, I trust you'll be entertained no matter what...

the things mah friends seems to love about me,
-The Swann

2002-12-18T23:16:00.000-08:00

MeFi meme links for Google today. Regular readers please disreguard...

Don't click here!.
And don't even think about clicking here!

Trust me, you don't want to...
Good advise if I've ever heard it.

2002-12-18T10:59:00.000-08:00

today's instructions

home, home again, twistruth ropes still in my veins, i try and claw them out, suck back lorazapam lozenge caught deep in throat, i shudder down a warm glass of someone's formula cooling on the sink, choke down/ swallow mother's milk night train mixutre, gag reflexology bone deep.

sleep 'til night falls, keep goin' now, no reason to get up anymore, just ride the pain into the night and follow the next in a coma daze full of dumb beast hallucinations, ectopasmic sheet stain rattled dreams, visions of something fluid...

wake up, make up to do list symbiology, do this do that, moving in slow steps, trying not to fall back on any wagons today at any rate.

rinse.
repeat.

2002-12-18T10:35:00.000-08:00

Since I've sadly locked mah own account over at FragX, I'll just post this li'l ditty here then cut an' paste the bitch as I see fit. Enjoy...

twistruth root v.1

vomiting up someone else's breakfast
facedown in Arizona soil, bloodied
earth so thin in brown moonlight
skin quivers centipides crawling
eye so sightless as another kick
reaches him
knocks him back
across jagged ancient pylons
built by time not man he thinks
as the last bootfall meets him
and night follows him no more

motel room cold and empty
broken vials of twistruth
over the semen stained bed
the UV light he carries
shows at least that much
shower shave another fifth
goes down...

twistruth violations cerebral cortex
spinning backwards in time/space mind
one moment horror, reality, madness
a junkie's life
the next come sickness, awashed in sorrow
then eyes open and see the truth
of what he has made...

a paradise.

a land of memory no one ever live...
the twistruth buzzes lower brain now
remembering language he doesn't speak
living a life only he can see
perfection selfcentered personified
closed circut masturbatory suicide
spinning in waves of bliss and rhyme
here is home
inside a drug that cradles
and encompasses him, entwined

2002-12-07T00:13:00.000-08:00

Hydee ho, motherfukarinos! It is I, the extraordinary Vincent Black here and at yer fucking service. Whenever my "good buddy" Gid has to bail town fer a bit he's left it up to me to cover for his sorry ass. But hey, not to worry you fine folks, I (unlike a certain someone that shall remain nameless) won't be doing and of that cut and paste news shit. No siree bob. So, until Gid gets back from his dinner with Uday or some silly shit you fucks are stuck with me.

I'll tell you more about me later I think, I've got some serious drinking to do.
Until next time that fat fuck slacks off,
-Vincent Black Shadow

2002-12-05T01:35:00.000-08:00

Two Blogs in one day?

or

What are the fucking odds?

Oh mah lady love, having sent such meaningful gifts, Amelie what a wonderful advert for ture love found. Pretty Baby, innocence lost in the dark heart of love. Even the Royal Tenebaulms, such wonderful presents...

Now we put the tape into the VCR, Heavenly Creatures it seems. What secrets of your heart await me there? I can hardly wait...

Can you love me without my trademark hair?

Holding the blade of love to my wrist,
-The Swann

2002-12-04T23:18:00.000-08:00

"MY GOD! WHAT HAVE I DONE?!"

or

"That bitch took my shit, man!"

or

Vanity as a Virtue

How could you love me, I'm a freak now. A mutant, hideous to behold. The vile doomed bastard cunt has scalped me against my will. That's right, it's gone baby, my voluminous hair, shorne to the wind. I look like the mad scientist from that old silent classic Metropolis now. Someone has to pay for this lapse of judgement, someone must pay for this war crime. As you read this a nation of dozens, all Amozonian battle whores, lay wasted from their multitude of tears, thier swords covered in the blood of a million Supercut "hair technicians".

This atrocity will not go unpunished!

Mark my words lords and lasses, whores and lovers, cats and kittens... blood will run in the streets tonight. I am the Great Red Swann, and the horse I ride is as bald as a Hare Krishna, and the axe I carry will be coated in the gore of broken dreams, supermodel sweat, and celeberty "marriages".

I can only hope my one true love can forgive the tormentors that have malformed my head, 'cause Lord knows, I ain't a-gonna.

Fuck them all.
Fuck them in their stupid asses.
All of them...

Half bald and loading my shotgun,
-The Swann

2002-12-01T19:41:00.000-08:00

A Thanksgiving Day miracle

or

How I spent my vactation in the hands of a sociopathic son of a dictator

I remember it like it was just ten days ago.
There I was, minding my shit, surfing the web and wondering what exciting news I could fabricate to post here in my "daily" bolg entry when, all of a sudden, someone sent me an IM. It was my old pal Uday Hussein inviting me to spend a week at his "weekend retreat" in the Hamptons. Normally I'd have thought things out a wee bit, mull his offer over, but seeing how I had a sacred duty to you, my loyal readers, I knew what I had to do. I had to spend a weekend at Uday's...

The limo arrived moments after I'd told Uday I'd be delighted to share the most American of holidays with him and his family. The limo was huge, the plane was simply massive, and the service was divine. But something kept nagging me, something just wasn't quite right. My first clue that things were amiss was when I passed out from the drugged wine.

I awoke blind and paralyzed.

Or so I thought at first. I soon came to find I was mearly tied up and blindfold... , and judging by the stink of gasoline, exhaust, and motor oil, in the trunk of a car. I stayed that way for hours, days, or maybe just minutes... it's hard to tell time in that sort of condition, y'know. Once we had finally come to a stop I felt an odd sort of relief, it's funny how one's mind works when yer bound and blind and fearing for your life.

The trunk opened and someone musta zapped me with a taser cuz that was all she wrote...

My eyes opened to a nice loooong table covered in exotic foods, wine, breads, pies, and a bigass giant goddamn roast pig with a grapefruit in it mouth staring me in the face. My hands were tied to the arm rests of an oversized director's chair, but at least I could see again. The room seemed empty, but I could feel the wafts of stink from Uday's trademarked cologne, a personal project he'd been working on for years involving orphan Kurdish children and ox blood. I never asked what the process was, didn't really want to know. At any rate, once I realized Uday was standing somewhere behind me I began hollarin' out his name, babbling about my Swiss bank account, the tapes I had in the safe deposit box with him and Kissenger at that rave in the Everglades back in '96, I even offered him sixteen ounces of pure lace Peruvian Jungle Pops I'd managed to have smuggled in the anal cavity of a nine year old bitch Collie named Laddie (and might I add that the Vet bill on that visit was thru the fuckin' roof!).

Uday just sat behind me, silently sucking on his goat flavored Jolly Rancher, brooding.

Next thing I know a scimitar flashed before my eyes, I heard a whirl of singing steel in the air, and just like that I was free.

I turned around, reaching into my jacket praying they had overlooked my derrenger when they searched me. No such luck, but at least my smokes were still there. I popped out my unfiltered Camel, click-popped the top of my zippo and tasted flavor country on my dry tongue. My eyes locked on Uday's expressionless face, still gumming down that Jolly Rancher, and exhaled a bellow of smoke into the air. He was still holding that ancient sword in his left hand in an Oh-so-threatening way. I sucked in a long drag of carcinogens and said, "When the fuck do we eat?".

Long story short, we ate that fucking pig and smiled like old buddys as he laughed off that silly story I'd written about him a few weeks ago. We dined and then went down to the Yuppie Hut meat market to score some chicks for the evening. And even though he couldn't find any Virgins of Allah there, he did manage to hook up with some top notch skank and left me with the bill...

So, after a week of bus rides, hitch hiking, and hanging off the roofs of big rigs on I-95 I'm back home. Back in the swamp, and feeling a little worn out.

I guess there's only one moral to my story:
never go to dinner without a dinner jacket. It's just plain rude. Especially when it's the son of the world's most reviled leader, Saddam.

I hope all y'all had a better turkey day than I.

As always I AM,
-The Swann

2002-11-21T02:48:00.000-08:00

This just in...

SANTA MONICA, Calif. (Wireless Flash) -- A woman in Santa Monica, California, is attempting to lose weight in a manner others may not be able to stomach -- an all-semen diet.
Starting December 1, a plump porn star named Kim Kelly hopes to lose between 10 and 20 pounds by spending 30 days on a diet consisting largely of semen -- or as she prefers, "man juice."
It may be hard for you to swallow but Kelly is shooting for at least six square meals a day -- with occasional pigouts. So far, more than 800 men have offered to help Kelly with her diet and she's currently screening applicants thoroughly for STDs. Although nutrition experts agree "man juice" is high in zinc and other nutrients, there's no officially recommended daily allowance. Therefore, Kelly says plans to drink plenty of banana smoothies in between her regular meals because, in her words, "I'm not going to kill myself for this."

No comment, I believe, is needed. In other news...
Don't tell her about this story, she might give up and turn to the Atkins diet...

One in Four Men Fakes Orgasms
Tue November 19, 2002 09:48 AM ET
LONDON (Reuters) - Women are not the only ones to turn on the acting abilities in the bedroom, said a survey released ahead of the world's largest adult festival in London.
The survey of 2,500 Britons, by organizers of the Erotica 2002 festival, said 23 percent of men claimed to have faked an orgasm, compared to 56 percent of women.

And finally, this story of how much better the kids today have it...

Parents Complain Prostitutes Operate Out Of High School Bathroom
Principal Says Problems Are 'Typical'
LOS ANGELES -- Is Washington Prep High School out of control? Some teachers say yes.
Teachers wrote a letter claiming major problems are plaguing the South Central Los Angeles campus including students who are gambling, drinking, cutting classes, using profanity, smoking marijuana, threatening teachers and committing sexual acts.

Ah, to be young again.
sigh.

Goodnight you princes of prostitution, goodnight you queens of cum guzzling, goodnight you fastidious fakers, truly you are all God's chosen upon this Earth of ours...

I love you too,
-The Swann

2002-11-17T22:12:00.000-08:00

18 November. The bizarre religious event known as the Jonestown Massacre happened in 1978. The Revd Jim Jones, leader of the People's Temple, had ended up with his followers in 'Jonestown', 27,000 acres of jungle in Guyana. He ordered his followers to commit mass suicide after the murder of Congressman Leo Ryan at a nearby airstrip. The commune's medical officer, Dr Lawrence Schact, 30, dispensed an exotic cyanide cocktail carefully made to kill the combined body wieght of 914 men, women and children. Jones himself, along with his wife, mistress and son, was shot through the head.

In "honor" of that tragic, and highly suspicious event we find ourselves on the aniversary of, I give you the following...

FIRE FROM THE SKY

by "One Who Knows"

PART 20:

LT. COL. JAMES "BO" GRITZ AND JONESTOWN

The officer in charge of all U.S. Army Special Forces for Latin America at
the time of the Jonestown holocaust was Lt. Col. James "Bo" Gritz. Gritz
was the original soldier after which the movie character "Rambo" was
patterned. Gritz was the most decorated soldier to come out of the Vietnam
war.

The Guyana massacre was carried out by Bo Gritz' men (along with British
SAS troops). *Flatland* (#10) magazine, in an interview with Gritz, asked
him:

Question: You trained Special Forces that went into Jonestown? What was the
precise nature of the operation?

"I don't know precisely because it was a compartmentalized operation. The
only thing that I do know for certain is what the Sergeant I quote coming
out of Jonestown, he was insistent because he was disgusted, on writing
this book. He was, without compromise, going to call it *All the Niggers
Are Dead.* I asked him, 'Why would you want to entitle anything such an
offensive way?' 'It doesn't make a difference what your color, your creed,
your sex,' he said, 'when you are treated the way they were, that's what
you are; you're a nigger, you're nothing else.' I think that those soldiers
saw things that affected them and made them very angry. I've seen other
things like that in combat where there have been abuses. I wrote about one
of them in my book where the Captain tortured the young severely and the
young Sergeant put on a swastika and said, "If I'm going to act like a Nazi
I'm going to look like one.' I think that the same kind of negative impact
occurred in Jonestown."

Gritz has more about Jonestown in his autobiography, *Called to Serve.*
Perhaps you simply cannot believe what I am telling you. Will you believe
it if told to you by the Green Beret officer in charge of the men who did
the killing? He admits that the information was "compartmentalized" and it
was not until later that he learned what his men were actually doing. The
following information is from pages 584-587 of his book:

"The true story of the Jonestown camp in Guyana has been brought to light
through an extensive investigation conducted by John Judge, from
Philadelphia and Washington, D.C., and other dedicated researchers and
investigators. The truth, which was thoroughly suppressed by the American
media, is that it was actually a slave-labor camp run by Jones with the
assistance of the CIA. Most of the information which follows is from John
Judge's summary of the investigation, supplemented with information
provided by Special Forces teams I had earlier trained and commanded, who
were sent in to 'clean up the remains of Jonestown.'

"Most of the black and Hispanic poor people and social activists who became
the inmates of the camp were brought there either by force or coercion, or
lured under false pretenses, where extensive experiments of drug-induced
mind control were performed on them. Even before they were moved to Guyana,
reports of beatings, kidnappings, sexual abuse and mysterious deaths had
leaked out to the press about the earlier Peoples' Temple in Ukiah,
California.

"Jim Jones had a very interesting past which was overlooked by the media:
During the time his friend Dan Mitrione was teaching torture techniques to
the Brazilian and Argentineans, Jones was also sent to Brazil where his
house, transportation and groceries were provided to him by the U.S.
Embassy, and he frequently traveled to Belo Horizonte, the CIA headquarters
in Brazil.

"Jones had been contacted in Ukiah by 'Christian missionaries' from World
Vision (World Vision is a CIA controlled front operation), an evangelical
order which had performed espionage work for the CIA in Southeast Asia.
Most of Jones' top lieutenants were from wealthy, educated backgrounds,
many with connections to the military or intelligence agencies. These were
the people who were involved in setting up the bank accounts, complex legal
transactions and financial agreements which put people under the control of
the Peoples' Temple.

"Some of Jones' Lieutenants were: Dr. Lawrence Layton was chief of Chemical
and Biological Warfare Research at Dugway Proving Grounds in Utah for many
years and later worked as Director of Missile and Satellite Development at
the Navy Propellant Division at Indian Head, Maryland. His wife, Lisa, was
the daughter of Hugo Phillips, who had represented the huge Nazi
manufacturing cartel, I.G. Farben, as a stockbroker. Their daughter,
Debbie, met and married George Philip Blakey, whose parents had extensive
stock holdings in Solve Drugs, a division of I.G. Farben.

"Blakey was reputed to be training mercenaries in Jonestown who were sent
to work with CIA-backed UNITA forces in Angola. Terri Buford's father,
Admiral Charles T. Buford, worked with Naval Intelligence. Marie Katsaris'
father was minister with the Greek Orthodox Church, thought to be a conduit
of CIA funding, and she claimed she had proof he was a CIA agent. The
'official survivors' were represented upon their return to the U.S. by
Joseph Blatchford, an attorney who had been named in a prior scandal
involving CIA infiltration of the Peace Corps.

"The people who were taken from San Francisco to begin their 'new life' in
Guyana were bussed to Florida and arrived in Guyana bound and gagged, where
they were forced to work 16 hours or more daily, and were fed on minimum
rations. As more and more rumors began to filter back to the United States
of druggings, beatings, torture, sexual humiliations and coercion at the
Guyana site, Congressman Leo Ryan decided to go to Guyana and verify the
situation for himself.

"Ryan had challenged the CIA's overseas operations before, as a member of
the House Committee responsible for oversight on intelligence. He was
co-author of the controversial Hughes-Ryan Amendment, which would have
required advance CIA disclosure to the congressional committees of all
planned covert operations. The amendment would be defeated shortly after
his death in Jonestown.

"With Ryan on the way to Jonestown, the secrecy surrounding the camp would
be broken and desperate measures would need to be taken to keep the truth
from escaping, much less the inmates. In a futile attempt to test their
conditioning methods, the leaders at Jonestown apparently tried to
implement an actual suicide drill, but it was obviously ignored. Official
stories first numbered the victims at 408, but later revised the toll
upward to 913. It was claimed that some 505 bodies had been covered by
those of the first 408 who had fallen directly on top of them, confusing
those who had been counting from aerial photographs. - a blatant and
ridiculous attempt at cover-up.

"However, the first reports were true - 408 had died, and 700 fled to the
jungle where British Black Watch troops and American Special Forces were
conducting 'training exercises.' Of the 700, 505 who had been deliberately
shot in the jungle were added to the count of those who had supposedly
committed suicide by drinking cyanide-laced Kool Aid.

"The truth is that nearly 400 inmates were forced to die by injection,
according to the Chief Guyanese medical examiner, Dr. Mootoo, who arrived
at Jonestown within hours of the massacre. He found needle marks on the
left shoulder blades of 80-90% of the victims, and the others had been shot
or strangled.

"As Chief Medical Examiner, Mootoo's testimony to the Guyanese Grand Jury
led to their conclusion that all but three of the people who had died at
Jonestown were murdered by 'persons unknown.' Several pictures show the
gunshot wounds on the bodies as well. The U.S. Army spokesman, Lt. Col.
Schuler, told the press, 'No autopsies are needed. The cause of death is
not an issue here,' and the forensic doctors who later performed the
autopsies at Dover, Delaware, were never made aware of Dr. Mootoo's
findings.

"Guyanese troops discovered a large cache of drugs, enough to control the
entire population of Georgetown, Guyana (pop. 200,000), for over a year.
One footlocker contained 11,000 doses of Thorazine, a dangerous
tranquilizer, and others such as sodium pentothal (truth serum), chloral
hydrate (a hypnotic), demerol, Thallium (confuses thinking), haliopareael
and Largatil (powerful tranquilizers) and many others. It was very evident
that Jonestown was a tightly-run concentration camp, complete with medical
and psychiatric experimentation.

"Direct orders to cover up the cause of death came from the top levels of
the American Government. Zbigniew Brzezinski, President Carter's national
security advisor, authorized Robert Pastor to order Lt. Col. Gordon Sumner
to strip the bodies of the medical bracelets they had been forced to wear
for identification. Pastor later served as Deputy Director of the CIA.

"One of the Special Forces sergeants assigned to the Jonestown massacre was
so outraged about what he had witnessed that he had decided to describe
the events in a book. While the Secrecy Act prevented him from detailing
all that went on, SFC Inman carefully hid the entire story within his
title: *All The Niggers Are Dead!* When I asked that he explain the
crudeness of so naming his report, he replied, 'Sir, that's what they were.
Both blacks and whites were niggers; that's what any slave is; that's what
they were. That was our final radio message when the job we were assigned
was finished.' I could tell by his bitterness that the government had no
fear that the book would ever be printed. He just needed someone to vent
his anger on.

"Guyanese Prime Minister Forbes Burnham rose to power as the result of a
CIA-inspired coup against the recalcitrant Guyanese leader Cheddi Jagan.
Richard Dwyer, a CIA agent working as Deputy Chief of Mission at the U.S.
Embassy in Guyana, was shown to have been at the scene at the time of the
massacre and at the airport strip, where he failed to order Guyanese
troops, armed with machine guns, to defend Ryan and his staff.

"Chief Consular Officer Richard McCoy, who was described as 'close to [Jim]
Jones,' worked for military intelligence and was 'on loan' from the Defense
Department at the time of the massacre. Dan Webber, who was sent to the
Jonestown site the day after, was also named as a CIA agent.

"U.S. Ambassador John Burke, who had served in the CIA since 1963 and had
worked with Dwyer in Thailand, according to Philip Agee, tried to stop
Ryan's investigation. The State Department concealed all reports of
violations at Jonestown from Congressman Leo Ryan, while the Embassy
regularly provided Jones with copies of all congressional inquiries under
the Freedom of Information Act.

"According to current reports, Jonestown has been 're-populated' with over
1,000 Laotion Hmong people who grew opium and served under General Vang Pao
during our 'secret war' in Laos and Cambodia. According to these reports,
World Vision was also attempting to move the population from the island of
Dominica to Jonestown.

"In addition to the already mentioned torture camp, Colonia Dignidad,
another is reported to be located at Pisgua, Chile. Inside Guyana itself is
another 'religious community,' named Hilltown, also operated under iron
discipline, with 8,000 blacks from Guyana and the U.S. They were allowed to
clear the Jonestown site of shoes and weapons, both of which are in short
supply in Guyana. It may only be a matter of time before another Jonestown
is exposed. It is sad to know that what started out to be an information
gathering organization has turned into an instrument of the dragon."

-http://www.anomalous-images.com/text/FIRESK20.TXT

2002-11-17T21:23:00.000-08:00

YAY! Our first ever homemade internet quiz! Feel like taking another pointless quiz, do ya? Then click here.

2002-11-16T17:44:00.000-08:00

It's News Day!!!!
Wheeeeeeeeeee...........

"Your ass is mine."

In another case officials said stemmed from the same investigation, Jeffrey Jones, an actor and acquaintance of Reubens, was charged with one felony count of employing a minor for purposes of taking sexually explicit photos and a misdemeanor count of possessing child pornography, according to the Los Angeles County District Attorney's Office. (Full story)
The charges against Jones, 56, best known as the high school principal in the movie "Ferris Bueller's Day Off," carry up to three years in prison, and he would have to register as a sex offender for life, according to the district attorney's office. Jones was also released on $20,000 bail, and his arraignment was scheduled for November 21.
According to the district attorney's office, the investigation of Jones began "about a year ago," but prosecutors did not say what prompted the probe.
The charges against Jones do not involve any sex act being performed or any video or film being taken, according to a statement from the district attorney's office. He stands accused of hiring a 14-year-old boy to pose for photographs, the statement said.
-- CNN

"BOOM! Baby"

WASHINGTON - The Bush administration is laying the groundwork for the resumption of nuclear testing and the development of new nuclear weapons, according to a memo obtained by Knight Ridder.
The memorandum circulated recently to members of the Nuclear Weapons Council, a high-level government body that sets policy for nuclear weapons, urges the U.S. nuclear weapons laboratories to assess the technical risks associated with maintaining the U.S. arsenal without nuclear testing, which President Bush's father halted in 1992. In addition, the memo suggests that the United States take another look at conducting small nuclear tests, a policy rejected by the Clinton administration.
"We will need to refurbish several aging weapons systems," writes council chairman E.C. Aldridge Jr., the undersecretary of defense for acquisition, technology and logistics. "We must also be prepared to respond to new nuclear weapons requirements in the future" - a reference to a push to develop "earth-penetrating" weapons that might destroy buried stocks of biological, chemical or nuclear weapons in countries such as Iraq.
"It's recognizing that the stockpile that we designed 25 or 30 years ago for the Cold War really might not be the stockpile for the war on terrorism," a senior Pentagon official said Friday. "The rest of the world realized after Desert Storm that if you could be seen, you could be killed."
The memo is backed up by little-noticed language in the defense authorization bill that Congress approved this week. The bill suggests that the U.S. nuclear weapons laboratories - Lawrence Livermore, Los Alamos and Sandia - should be ready to resume testing with as little as six months notice.
Daryl Kimball, the executive director of the Arms Control Association, said the memorandum demonstrates the Bush administration's intention to end the testing moratorium.
"The administration is chipping away at the barriers to a resumption of testing," said Kimball. "They are doing their best to establish a rationale to resume testing, either for reliability problems or for new weapons. The reality is that there is no scientific nor military basis for a resumption of testing, and to do so would be an enormous strategic blunder that would invite a wave of proliferation that could swamp the entire non-proliferation regime."
New testing could prompt the Russians, the Chinese, Indians and Pakistanis to do likewise, or harden North Korea's refusal to abandon its nuclear program, he warned.
-www.miami.com

"Headlines"

Call for Condom Testers Swamped by Offers
Wife Kills Spouse with Axe Blows to Groin
Charity Workers Chat with Dead Woman, Then Leave
Elvis Hair Sells for Over $100,000
Porn and hashish an antidote in Peshawar

2002-11-13T20:45:00.000-08:00

coldcoldcoldcoldcoldcold...........it's so fucking cold. but that's not why I here tonight writing for y'all, I'm here to tell you about the "wonder drug" ambien and a webstrip called jack.

First things first as mah fingers are litterally vibrating as I try and type. And the fact that I've taken mah first ambien just nine minutes ago and the shit is hitting me like high grade acid, in cold shivering waves and this is supposed to be a sleeping pill. trying to get me back to the "normal" sense of time most of America has and I somehow seem to lack. It's a weird buzz, but buzz is the wrong/right word. Wrong 'cause, like I said, this is a sleeping pill, right 'cause it's the really right word, i'm buzzing here. All that in under ten minutes, wow.

http://jack.keenspace.com/
Jack is about a dead furry, named Fnar, that had'nt the chance to be born and is sent to hell to be with his mother until the "guys upstairs" figure out what to do with him. The synopsis being done here's the crux of the rest. The Art, while being sub par furry, ain't too shabby. Very distinctive, I likes. It's the words I got a prob with, you just can't read about half of 'em and the ones you can are misspelled most of the time. Still, get the guy someone to do his lettering and it's near perfect where the story is concerned. Try it, what the fuck else you gotta do that's so important (svette, you can ignore that last line, hehe)

That's it for me, sorry for having been so preoccupied with other far more important things than write here in the blog. But us freeks over at deformedabstrations have been posting up a fucking storm. Remember, the links are right over there on the left, stop on by, sit a spell, share a story, laugh yer ass off...

One last thing to mah favorite partner in web crimes, hey Svette, hope yer over the Plague enough so we don't hafta resort to that silly plan b (immolation).

Until next time, i love the ones i love and the rest of you can just fuck off.
As always I AM,
-The Swann

2002-11-10T16:56:00.000-08:00

I swear I didn't do it!

A teen in South Florida who rented an Austin Powers movie from his local library instead ended up watching porn, according to a Local 6 News report.
The teen went into a branch of the Broward County library system in Pompano Beach and checked out the video.
But when he popped the video in to his VCR at home it wasn't the 'Spy Who Shagged Me."
Someone apparently replaced, or taped over Austin Powers with some triple XXX rated pornography.
"I was like, OK, but I didn't know what it was and then it started, when I turned it off I started vomiting, in the bathroom throwing up," the boy said.
Neither the library, nor the teen's mother were happy with what happened, according to the Local 6 News report.

Two questions for y'all; 1) How is it that I never checked out that tape having been to that library branch and 2) The fucking kid started vomiting?!?! What the fuck?!

Whatever happened to Futurama?
-The Swann

2002-11-08T00:59:00.000-08:00

I Have No Idea What Any Of This Means Because I Didn't Write It A Genius Named Mr. Mike Did, He's Dead Now...

Oh, come in, Lydia. Allow me to introduce my dinner guests to you. This is Cheryl Heatherton, the madcap soybean heiress whose zany antics actually mask a heart broken by her inability to meaningfully communicate with her father, E. J. Heatherton, seated to her left, who is too caught up in the heady world of high finance to sit down and have a quiet chat with his own daughter, unwanted to begin with, disposing of his paternal obligations by giving her everything, everything but love, that is.
Next to them sits Geoffrey Drake, a seemingly successful merchant banker trapped in an unfortunate marriage with a woman half his age, who wistfully looks back upon his days as the raffish Group Captain of an R.A.F. bomber squadron that flew eighty-one missions over Berlin, his tortured psyche refusing to admit, despite frequent nightmares in which, dripping with sweat, he wakes screaming, "Pull it up! Pull it up, I say! I can't hold her any longer! We're losing altitude! We're going down! Jerry at three o'clock Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagggh!", that his cowardice and his cowardice alone was responsible for the loss of his crew and "Digger," the little Manchester terrier who was their mascot.
The empty chair to his right was vacated just five minutes ago by Geoffrey's stunning wife, twenty-three-year-old, golden-tressed Edwina Drake, who, claiming a severe migraine, begged to be excused that she might return home and rest, whereas, in reality, she is, at this moment, speeding to the arms of another man, convinced that if she can steal a little happiness now, it doesn't matter who she hurts later on.
The elderly servant preparing the Caviar en Socle is Andrew who's been with my family for over forty years although he hasn't received a salary for the last two, even going on so far as to loan me his life's savings to cover my spiraling gambling debts but it's only a matter of time before I am exposed as a penniless fraud and high society turns its back on me.
The dark woman opposite me is Yvonne de Zenobia, the fading Mexican film star, who speaks of her last movie as though it was shot only yesterday, unwilling to face the fact that she hasn't been before the cameras in nearly fifteen years; unwilling to confess that her life has been little more than a tarnished dream. As for her companion, Desmond Trelawney, he is an unmitigated scoundrel about whom the less said, the better. And, of course, you know your father, the ruthless war profiteer, and your hopelessly alcoholic mother, who never quite escaped her checkered past, realizing, all too late, that despite her jewels and limousines, she was still just a taxi-dancer who belonged to any man for a drink and a few cigarettes.

Please take a seat.

We were just talking about you.

2002-11-06T23:02:00.000-08:00

A Very Special Olympics
(original posting 07.08.01)

Here's an idea, kids...
Let's turn the "Special Olympics" into a professional Death Sport. We give the hadicapable kids various forms of weapons, load them up into a Roman sized arena, and let them kill one another off.

Now, hear me out on this.

There's nothing sadder than the look of joy these kids get from running a 30 minute mile the fastest. Sure,
they seem happy, but deep down they KNOW a hollow victory when they see one. I mean, really, how excited can you get knowing that you just whupped the ass off another crippled kid?

Now, when life and death is on the line, intellegence doesn't even enter into it. That last kid standing is gonna feel DAMN GOOD to have won that day. Hell, it might even inspire him to get a job at Micky D's an' shit. Just picture it for a moment. Little Tommy, covered in the fresh blood from the decapitation he just preformed on a little blind girl with Down's Syndrome standing victorious for al the world to see. Look at that death mask of joy! He won something truly important that day, the knowledge that through the death of another, you might survive...

And, in the end, isn't that the most important lesson of all?

Until next time my love junkies,
-The Swann

2002-11-05T23:30:00.000-08:00

In Baltimore, someone (cough cough Republicanscumbags cough cough) has been posting fliers in inner city neighborhoods which read:

URGENT NOTICE. Come out to vote on November 6th. Before you come to vote make sure you pay your parking tickets, motor vehicle tickets, overdue rent and most important any warrants.
-Tom Tomorrow

2002-11-05T15:05:00.000-08:00

5 November. Guy Fawkes' Day. His Gunpowder Plot of 1605, which planned to blow up parliament, was betrayed. The burning of Guy on a bonfire derives from the old fire festival of Samhain (1 November). -FT

Peruvian teenagers 'possessed' by Dragon Ball Z
-ananova.com

The parents of three Peruvian teenagers say their children have been possessed by a Japanese TV cartoon show.
Christian Vilchez, who's 16, and 19-year-olds Jorge Vela and Edy Frank Castillo are fans of Dragon Ball Z and never miss an episode.
But, according to their parents, since watching it last week they have gone mute, had convulsions and lost their memories.
One of the teenager's fathers told Terra Noticias Populares: "It is all Dragon Ball Z's fault. My son is numb. I beg the authorities and the church to support me."
Doctors on the town of Tarapoto have examined Edy Frank Castillo and have not yet come up with an explanation for his condition. They continue to study the cases.
One of the cartoon's characters is Babidi, a mind altering wizard who uses his powers to "bring out the evil in people's hearts and control them".

Misc. Headlines from around the world...

Hundreds of French prostitutes protest crackdown
Politician charged for saying opponent watched porn
Romania workers pay debts with sperm
"Friends" star Schwimmer dating porn star Carla Alapont
Coach accused of showing porn to pupils
Teacher jokes about killing students, hiding bodies
-newsfilter.org

A personal update sould be filed later tonight, I swear...

Red tide on election day,
-The Swann

2002-11-02T12:44:00.000-08:00

2 November. All Souls' Day, when the dead members of families were supposed to return and had to be shown hospitality. In Ireland the fire was left lit, the door unlocked and food was left on the table when the family went to bed. Souls crowded in as thickly as bees. In Naples the dead members could rest while their families came to see them. The mortuaries were thrown open, revealing the fleshless bodies arranged for viewing in niches along the walls. Intercession is made for the souls in Purgatory for the whole of November. -FT

Taking a slide thru your world,
-The Swann

2002-10-30T04:30:00.000-08:00

30 October. The start of four days' penance for Aztecs. No mating, with ceremony or without. In 1938 Americans panicked when Orson Welles announced that the Martians had landed. His production of War of the Worlds convinced almost everyone. The news media were full of bombing atrocities from Spain, China and elsewhere, and the public was primed for a war with someone. Exactly 46 years later, the switchboards of London's Capital Radio were jammed by panic-stricken listeners to a re-run of the same broadcast. -FT

In case I don't see ya'll 'til tomorrow, have a WONDERFUL Devil's Night.

...I'll hit you like a truck,
The Swann